Wonder City Stories

Wonder City Stories III #12

2012-11-16T00:32:09Z

Wonder City returns! Thank you all so much for your patience.

The Fall of the House at Marigold Lane

Ira tapped each step of the bus with his cane as he descended -- three steps, then the step down to the pavement. The bus door accordioned shut behind him and he heard the engine roar as the bus accelerated away from the stop.

He stood there a moment, trying to squint through the bright clouds in his eyes, hoping to spot a figure or anything beyond the post of the sign that probably denoted the bus stop.

Then there were hurried footsteps crunching on gravel. "Sorry, Ira," Watson Holmes said, coming up to him a little breathlessly. "Got distracted by folks in the yard."

"It is a nice warm day," he said, smiling in her direction.

"Can I help?" she said, and took his hand when he reached out, tucking it in her elbow. She was wearing a thick flannel shirt. They began a slow stroll.

"It's quiet out here," he said, paying most attention to where his feet were going. "I remember this neighborhood. They really built it up in the '50s, but there were a few old farmhouses and such out here before that."

"Yeah, we're going to Marigold Lane," Watson said, "which is a dead end street at the end of this one. There's a mansion there, late Victorian, three stories and a carriage house and all. The outside looks like a madman with a jig saw was allowed to gingerbread it, and it's a Painted Lady in yellow, red, and blue. Pretty spectacular. Our landlord built it when he first moved to Wonder City."

Ira puzzled over this a moment. "And he first moved to Wonder City... before it was Wonder City?"

"Yep," Watson said. "He's one of those types."

"Ah," Ira said sagely, mentally cataloguing all the different types her landlord could be.

"Okay, now we've got five steps down from the street to the front walk," Watson said, slowing down so Ira could feel his way with his cane.

He felt terribly awkward doing it all, and awfully self-conscious of his awkwardness. He cringed when he stumbled over the join of the pavement, but Watson kept him safely upright. Not that he'd actually take any damage to anything but his dignity and clothes if he did fall.

"The front walk isn't precisely straight, and it's in bad repair," Watson said, her voice warm and friendly. "We'll just go as slow or fast as you can."

"So, about why I came..." Ira started.

"Hang on," Watson said in an undertone. Louder, she said, "Hi, Megan."

"Oh, hello, Irene." Ira blinked at the voice -- definitely the voice of Megan Amazon but... something was different. Like she was... trying to imitate Marilyn Monroe? And... Irene? "Oh, hello, Mr. Feldstein! It's so nice to see you!"

He smiled bravely and shook her hand. Her handshake was... strangely limp. And she was wearing perfume. Perfume? She hadn't seemed like the sort to wear perfume. But he was hardly a judge of young women these days. He'd never been much of a judge of women. Any women. Why did everyone think he'd been such a womanizer anyway? He'd been a good, upright man.

"Hey, Simon," Watson said, interrupting Ira's brown study.

Ira turned with a smile. Simon Canis, at last! He stuck out his hand. "Son, it's good to run into you," he said.

A furry head bumped his hand from below, and a cold nose brushed his wrist. A long tail thumped against his calf.

"Simon?" Ira said hesitantly, letting his hand drop onto the thick fur. He remembered, suddenly, that Simon was a shapeshifter.

"Yeah," Watson said sadly.

"He's a good boy today, isn't he?" Megan said inanely. "Simon and I are headed for walkies! We'll see you later, I hope, Mr. Feldstein!"

Ira scritched Simon's head and said, in a low voice, "Oh, son."

Simon whined and licked Ira's hand before having to follow the heavy steps crunching away on the walk.

Ira let Watson lead him onward, across the apparently never-ending front yard. She said, "So on our left is the carriage house, which is where Jack Hammer lives these days. Not that I've seen him recently."

"Jack Hammer, the Iron Sergeant?" Ira said, perking up a little and looking uselessly in the indicated direction. "I didn't know he was still in Wonder City. He left for a while, back in the 60s, I think."

"Yeah, he used to work construction for Ultimate Construction," Watson said, "before the big reorganization."

"What reorganization?" Ira said.

"Oh, some sort of hostile takeover -- okay, three steps up here," Watson said. "It would take a long time to explain."

"But Dr. Thomas --" Ira began, taking the steps slowly, forgetting for a moment the Gold Stars and their space mission.

"Is missing," Watson said. "Hang on, let me get the door."

Inside, the front hall smelled of furniture polish and old leather, and was even quieter than the neighborhood had been. The floor was hardwood, given the sound of the cane's taps. Ira folded up his cane and tucked it into the pocket of his old sportcoat.

"My place is up on the third floor," Watson said. "Can you make that climb?"

"Slow and sure," Ira said with a smile. She'd asked him that on the phone, too. He was a blind old man, after all. It would serve him right if he had another damn heart attack climbing those stairs. He should've just stayed home. This was ridiculous. He should just mind his own damn business. He added reassuringly, "I've got my nitro with me, just in case."

Watson walked slowly up the stairs to the second floor with him. "So, our landlord lives in the basement, when he's in house at all these days -- haven't seen him for a few months, says he's off on family business. Megan has some of the rooms on the first floor, and up here on the second floor, there are two apartments. The one on the right used to be Simon's."

"What happened to him?" Ira said as he paused to catch his breath.

"I'll tell you in a bit," Watson said. "Let's get upstairs."

"Didn't that young woman... G, was it?... live here too?" Ira said, making his way to the next set of stairs.

"She did," Watson said, her tone reluctant and flat. "She, ah, decided to stay in Europe for a few more years. So someone else is living in her apartment now."

"Oh, well, I'm sorry to hear it," Ira said, trying to soothe whatever feathers he'd ruffled. He felt terrible for bringing it up. The stairs took his breath for several minutes after that.

Watson guided him to a chair in a room that smelled somewhat of cats and, after a moment of what seemed to be shooing of one of said cats, said, "Okay, you can sit down now."

Ira was surprised by the comfort of the chair. When he ran his hands over the arms, it reminded him of his old friend Molly Pitcher's favorite chair, leather smoothed silky with age and wear. He wondered where Watson had got the chair, or if she'd inherited it.

"Would you like something to drink?" Watson said, sounding vaguely flustered for the first time in Ira's short acquaintance with her.

There was a tickle in his throat. "A glass of water would do me fi--YIPE!" He jumped as something small and furry leapt into his lap.

"MWAH!" said the cat in his lap.

"Really?" Ira said, extending a hesitant finger in the general direction of the animal that was trampling his skinny legs. "I'd never have known."

"That's Madame Blavatsky," Watson said, pressing a glass into his hand. "I think she likes you."

The cat, whose paws felt very tiny indeed, stomped around for a few more moments, and then curled herself into a tiny furry ball in Ira's lap. Ira very carefully stroked her fur. The cat vibrated with an inaudible purr.

"So," Watson said, and Ira could hear her sitting on something opposite him. "About why you came."

"Oh! Yes," Ira said. "I... expect you've noticed that things are a bit odd."

Watson snorted a laugh. "You might say that."

"Well, there's some of us who've been..." He tried to think of a good way to briefly explain the gatherings in Madame Destiny's living room. He was such a stupid man, a terrible man, he was surprised that Suzanne put up with him the way she did, that Watson was being so patient with him. It must just be the fact that he was an old blind man and it was the nice thing to do to listen to him. "... thinking about all of it, you know?"

"I'm right there with you," Watson said.

"Well, we were wondering if you knew how to get hold of Renata Scott," Ira said, deciding to just come to the point.

"I do," Watson said, sighing. "But it won't do you any good, I'm afraid."

"What do you mean?" Ira said, leaning forward. Madame Blavatsky indicated her displeasure with this shift by extending one paw full of claws gently into his leg. He leaned back again.

Watson paused, and Ira could hear her scratching her head. "I mean that Renata isn't at home right now. She hasn't been for a couple months at least. I tried calling her when it occurred to me that people were being mind-altered, and her robots told me that she was gone."

Ira slumped and tried to hide his disappointment by petting the cat. He was always behind the eight-ball on these things, that's why he was a crappy third-line superhero back when, and why he was a stupid old man now. How could he have thought that Watson could help them? She might not even be telling him the truth now -- she might be hiding Renata's information because she'd been controlled herself, or maybe because she couldn't trust a stupid old man with the information, or any of a hundred reasons he could think of. He put his face in one hand, trying not to let miserable tears roll down his cheeks.

There was a long silence, and he fancied he could feel Watson looking at him. Finally, she said, "You're feeling it, aren't you? The ridiculous miserable feeling? We're in the middle of some sort of... focus of whatever is going on. It hit Simon the hardest, as you... felt. He can barely take human form any more. And I don't know what happened to Megan." Her voice broke over Megan's name.

Ira rubbed his face hard. She was right. He was being ridiculous. He felt terrible. Even his joints ached more than usual. "What the hell is going on?" he murmured. "You've got to get out of here."

"Simon tried moving out," Watson said, so sad and defeated-sounding that Ira wanted to cry again. "He said the feeling caught up with him, and started in on everyone around him. I suppose it could be following Simon -- he was pretty high-profile there, with doing that queer variety show and that guest appearance on Glee and everything."

"Suzanne missed him when he went off to film that," Ira said. "Oh, god, you haven't heard what's happened to Suzanne."

"Simon told me she forgot him," Watson said, her voice gone flat. "Just... forgot him one day. That was when he stopped even trying to be human."

"What's going to happen to all of us?" Ira said in a small voice, laying his hand on the warm purring cat.

"I don't know, Ira," Watson said. "I really don't know."

They sat in dejected silence for a while, until Ira finally remembered to take a sip of water. He said, "Will you come to one of our little get-togethers? We could use your brain."

Watson started to say something, then stopped, paused, and said, "I don't think I'd better. I'm afraid I might bring... unwanted attention down on you all. But if there are things you think I can do and you can ask in a coded sort of way, feel free to give me a call."

"What if you... forget?" Ira said, fighting down the uncontrollable wave of disappointment that her refusal brought him.

"Another good reason for me to not get involved, no matter how much I want to," Watson said. "If I suddenly turned into a Stepford Wife wannabe like Megan, I'd be a terrific liability."

"Ah," Ira said, running his fingers gently over the tiny cat's pointy spine.

The cat said, "Prrt?"

"I'm sorry," Watson said. "I just... I don't even feel comfortable visiting my sister right now."

"No, your reasoning makes perfect sense," Ira said. He flopped a little helplessly around the cat, wondering what to do about her. "I should leave you to your work."

Watson silently rose and scooped the cat from his lap. The cat said, "MWAH," indignantly, and Ira could hear little claws going tick-a-tack on the hardwood floor.

The next few moments were awkward, as Ira tried to get out of the chair himself and failed, despite his invulnerable and still super-strong muscles. The depth of the chair and the angles just foiled him, and finally, he mutely extended one hand, fighting down the wave of unreasonable humiliation it brought him. Watson helped him up.

As they passed down the stairs to the second floor, Ira heard footsteps trudging slowly up from the first floor. "Hey, Watson," that person said. Ira thought the voice was vaguely familiar. Then she added, "Oh! Ira!"

"Lizzie?" Ira said, pleased and astonished. "Tin Lizzie? I haven't seen you in a dog's age."

"Ira?" Lizzie said. "Oh, god, I can't... you can't..." She didn't take his hand, didn't step to meet him. He got a whiff of cigarettes and beer.

"Lizzie, Ira can't see you," Watson said patiently. "It doesn't matter you're in your PJs, okay?"

"I... oh. I'm... I'm working the late shift these days, I'm sorry, Ira," Lizzie said hurriedly, and took his hand. At least her handshake wasn't limp and characterless.

"No worries," Ira said, trying to put the young woman -- the woman who had looked nothing at all like his long-gone wife, but who had reminded him of her in some strange way for a time -- at ease. "I was just leaving, but maybe I'll run into you sometime."

"Yeah," Lizzie said, relief filling her voice. "Yeah, that would be great. You look good, Ira."

"Thanks," he said, letting Watson guide him past her and the awkwardness between them after all this time. "The old bones keep on moving. Take care."

"You too," she said, a little wistfully, but he heard her open and shut her door.

Outside the front door, Ira said, "So she's the one living in G's apartment."

"Yeah," Watson said.

"How is she doing?"

"About as well as you might expect," Watson said. "I've tried to get her to move -- she's nowhere near as high-profile as Simon was -- but she's just... sticking it out, I guess."

They continued on to the bus stop in silence. As Ira heard the bus pulling up the road, he turned to Watson and pressed her hand. "You call if you need anything. Or someone to talk to. I don't have much to do but listen these days," he added, trying to lighten the moment.

"Oh, Ira," Watson said, pressing his hand back, "thank you."

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Wonder City Stories III #1

2012-05-31T17:32:11Z

Welcome to volume III of Wonder City Stories, which is titled Trust No #1.

If you're just joining us here in Wonder City, please check out the two complete novels already posted! The table of contents lists them by episode, and also, at the bottom of the page, there are Wonder City Interludes, which are short stories and a novella based in the Wonder City universe. Check it out! Stay a while!

For our regular readers who are champing at the bit for the next installment of the story, I present you with Episode 1 of Trust No #1. For present, the update schedule will be once weekly on Wednesdays.

Remember that I love comments. Comments give me writing power!

---

Somewhere That's Green

Megan Amazon woke to her alarm clock and the usual sensation of something not being quite right. Fortunately, the sensation faded almost immediately -- sometimes it took hours to diminish, and those were very bad days indeed.

The unfortunate tangle of her nightgown around her hips made her resolve to go back to wearing pajamas. It's not like anyone else saw her in them anyway.

She stood up and nudged the new frilled baby blue curtains away from the window looking over the back garden. It was a clear spring day, probably a little chilly given the frost subliming off the just-greening plants in the sun. She stretched up onto her toes and yawned, then turned around and affectionately scratched the ears of the big tawny dog curled up on the foot of her bed. "Hey, boy, hey, Simon. Want to go out?"

Simon blinked golden eyes up at her and opened his mouth like he was going to talk. But Megan knew he didn't do that any more, so wasn't surprised when he shut his muzzle and slid off the bed onto the floor.

She held the back door open for him as he trudged out. She wondered if she ought to take him to the vet; he seemed so depressed these days.

Washing her hair was taking longer than it used to, but of course it was more appropriate for her to have longer hair. And there was something satisfying about slicking it down into a smooth black ponytail. It was really the makeup that she just couldn't get the hang of, no matter how many times Juanita showed her how to put it on. She settled for the eyeliner and dark lipstick. It was something, at least.

She put on a mahogany brown ballet top and black slacks, and wolfed down two ParaSlim shakes before letting Simon back in. He stared up at her like she was an alien, then slunk to his dog bed and curled up.

"I'm putting down some kibble in case you want a nibble," Megan sang to him from the kitchenette. When Simon gave her a withering glance that kind of hurt her feelings, she added, "Well, okay, I guess it sounds stupid from someone my size, but I'm trying, you know." When he looked away, she said, "Irene will be down to let you out at noon, like usual." She walked over and bent down to pet his head. He didn't even thump his tail. Definitely time for the vet. "I'll be home at 5:30. I don't have anywhere to be except work."

Megan let herself out and trotted up to the bus stop. She should be on time, which was good. After all, she'd survived the big reorganization of the company. She wouldn't want to lose a good, steady job like being a janitor at Ultimate Construction. Even with the weekend work.

---

Remember to vote for Wonder City Stories at Top Webfiction!

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Wonder City Stories II #90

2012-02-14T15:20:31Z

Jubilee

It was my first time running the android avatar that Larentia Canis had built me in a crowd, but I was going to by damn be AT Ruth's birthday party, not just watch it on a camera.

She was somewhat awkward to handle at first, no matter how much practice I'd had running her in my home. I called her Metro because Larentia, in a fit of whimsy, had recreated the android from Fritz Lang's Metropolis, with the feminine body and helmet-shaped head and deco styling, only with a dark copper finish. I was sititng in my long distance chair, wearing the control coronet. I was also drugged to the gills. Metro also had all sorts of electronic filters that affected mental powers, but the meds brought me down to a level actually manageable by those filters. I had full physical sensation, just as if I were there, without the mental onslaught of the people around me. I was just me, walking around on the hot sand beach of the remote island where everyone had gathered.

I spent a little time enjoying the feel of the sun warming the metal of my skin and the smell of the ocean and hot sand.

Of all the (few) people who knew me, Suzanne Feldstein found me first. "Renata? Renata Scott?" she said, a brown-haired, middle-aged white woman peering into Metro's eyes inquiringly.

"That's me," I said through Metro's speakers, and offered a hand. "Glad to meet you in the flesh, Suzanne. Well, flesh and metal."

Suzanne shook my hand vigorously. She was dressed in a yellow-floral-print sundress, and the sun was already starting to redden her shoulders. "I'm so glad you could come. C'mere, let me introduce you around some."

And so I met Simon, and he was just as fine in person as he was on camera, and if possible, sweeter. "Ms. Scott!" he said, shaking my hand. He was wearing a blue muscle shirt with "TEAM SIMON" on it in block letters and loose black shorts. His hair and Van Dyke were sharply trimmed. "I'm glad to meet you! Oh, I'm glad Mom did such a good job on that android body; it's really gorgeous."

How could I blush at a compliment meant for his mother's handiwork? Don't ask me. "Your mother has been very generous and kind to me over the years. This is only one example."

"She's like that," Simon said, then he stepped back and gestured to someone. "And here's someone who's been wanting to meet you too. Ira, this is Ms. Scott."

"Please," I said, shaking the old man's hand, "both of you, please call me Renata."

Ira beamed at me. He was wearing a big straw hat, a yellow polo shirt, and khaki shorts that showed his pale knobbly knees. He was a little thin and stooped, but otherwise looked younger than his 83 years. "I'm honored to meet you, Renata. You did such a bangup job that night, though I can't imagine it was easy."

"You did a pretty good job yourself, sir," I said.

"Ira," he corrected me.

"Ira," I said, wishing Metro's smile wasn't so very... scary, and that Larentia's attempt at the overlay projection (a la Maria's duplicate) hadn't failed so spectacularly. Someday, I'd be able to smile at people too.

Suzanne, I realized from her movements and her half-empty drink, was already more than a bit tipsy. She reached out and snagged the arm of a mousy, bespectacled white woman in jeans and a t-shirt. "Watson, Watson, come meet Renata."

So there was an orgy of introductions conducted by Suzanne, who was adding every moment to her "sheets to the wind" quotient. I met Watson Holmes, Megan Amazon, Ivy and Malik Canis (each holding a squirming puppy they introduced as belonging to their sister Jasmine -- I wasn't entirely sure what they meant by "belonging", given that the puppies were exclaiming my name delightedly), Ana Hernandez, Flo and Ebb Starr, the Silver Guardian (who was an old friend of Suzanne's apparently), and Sekhmet of the Gold Stars, and... a lot of other people whose names I'd heard but who I'd never met "live" before.

I was glad to be drugged to the gills, honestly. It was the largest crowd I'd been in for over 20 years.

Simon finally, kindly, as the afternoon advanced alarmingly toward evening, led Suzanne off to the buffet tables, saying, "We'll catch you later, Renata," over his shoulder. He winked at me, the little devil.

Left to my own devices, I made my way from the beach, where I'd been trapped by the introduction nexus after arriving there via the teleport link, up toward the line of umbrellas and beach chairs where I spotted Gloria Revelle's lean, solemn face peering around periodically. I figured that wherever Gloria was, Ruth was likely to be.

I was right. Ruth was ensconced in a thronelike wooden beach chair with some colorfully umbrella'd adult beverage in an enormous glass in one hand, grinning like a fool up at me. "You did make a gorgeous thing there, Larentia," she said, glancing up at Larentia, who was standing nearby. Ruth carefully balanced the glass on the arm of the chair, and got up to hug me. I saw Sophie reach out and steady the glass behind her, just as Ruth got me in a careful bear hug.

I leaned Metro's chin on her shoulder and enjoyed the various sensations of a solid, muscular, warm human body in my arms. I loved Ruth for many reasons, not least because for her, hugging one of her friends manifested in an android body was hardly the oddest thing she'd done in the past five minutes. "You look so much better than you did last I saw you, Ruth," I said.

"I feel so much better, Rennie," she murmured, not letting me go yet. "You helped give me back my baby. I won't forget that."

"Hell, Ruth, you gave me my life," I said, not willing to let go, feeling like I'd been in the desert for 20 years and was just getting a small sip of water. It had been so long since I'd touched a human being, and I can't actually remember when I last hugged someone without immediately being inside her or his head. "I'm glad to give something back. I mean, what do you get the most powerful para on Earth for her birthday anyway?"

We laughed, and finally stepped back a little, but our arms lingered around each other's waists. Ruth gestured around, saying, "You know Gloria, of course."

I shook hands with Gloria, and was amazed to actually see the woman smile. She had a little lopsided smile, with a mostly closed mouth, and I noticed that she had a bit of an overbite -- I suspected that might be why she doesn't smile more often. "Gloria, thank you for everything you've been doing lately with the chef roster. The variety has been really wonderful."

"I thought we could use some new blood in the kitchen," she said in her deep voice and blunt MidAtlantic accents. "You're my lab rat, you know. These are all chefs I try out on you before using them for catering and events."

"Glad to be of service," I said. "Delicious service."

"Here's Olivia," Ruth said, drawing the Fat Lady into the circle. The Fat Lady was wearing a remarkable gauzy white dress that drifted dramatically on the breeze and looked just right with her complexion, and her sleek black hair was caught up under an extravagant white sun hat.

"Renata, I've heard so many good things about you," Olivia said, turning her famous dimples and dazzling smile on me.

I confess to feeling just a little overwhelmed and, well, fangirlish, so I think I managed to mutter something polite and possibly gushed about loving her work before Ruth sicced Sophie on me.

The girl had some of the most intense dark eyes I've ever seen, and even though I technically shouldn't have been able to sense a damned thing about her, I could feel the wheels of her mind turning and turning. It was almost like I could see and feel the clockwork moving through those remarkable eyes. That's what you get from the intimate connection of stuffing someone back into her head, I suppose. There we were, caught in mid-handshake, staring into each other's minds, I think, for what felt like a piece of eternity, before we both shook ourselves and she said, "I've been wanting to thank you for everything you did."

I shrugged. "There were lots of folks who did more than I did."

"Yes, well," Sophie said, flashing a grin. She reached behind her and dragged another white girl her age foward. This one was brown-haired and utterly average in terms of looks and overt charm, but I recognized her.

"Pacifica," I said, shaking her hand. "Glad to meet you outside your head."

She smiled shyly, pressed her lips together and hunched her shoulders a bit. "I'm flattered you remember me, Ms. Scott."

"Renata," I said, thinking, Girl, how could I possibly forget you? Aloud, I added, "Your arm seems to've healed up nicely."

"It's still stiff," she said, "but Sophie makes good healing accelerators. Even if I did have to spend time in tank full of blue goo. Why was it blue, anyway?" she added, turning to Sophie.

"I didn't want anyone eating it," Sophie said.

"No one would eat that, it smelled too bad," Nereid said.

Sophie grinned. "You'd be surprised..."

There was a loud crack of lightning overhead, and everyone tensed. Ruth looked up quickly, then rolled her eyes and said to Sophie, "Didn't you give that child an invitation?"

Sophie shrugged. "I did," she said, "but she always prefers to crash." I thought I picked up just a bit of mischief there, as if, perhaps, she'd had some idea in advance.

High above us was a flying stage, limned in neon and flashing lights against the twilit sky. It slowly lowered until it was hovering just above the ocean, with the spectacular painted clouds of sunset sprawling out behind it. Myriad small, hovering robots levitated from the stage and sprang into formation in the air, turning colored spotlights onto the platform. A backdrop of enormous metal struts extruded from the back of the stage, arching up into Gothic points and then blooming into weirdly delicate curlicues that suggested tentacles, or possibly fruit.

"What the hell is that?" Sister Power said, as though she knew exactly what the hell it was but was a bit afraid of the answer. She crinkled a smile at me, her dark brown face highlighted by a glorious mane of silver hair. I'd forgotten how old she was; she'd gotten her start in the 1970s, so she must be in her 60s by now.

Ruth massaged the bridge of her nose. "It's Sophie's little friend. You remember her, Imara. The one who started a band in college. Calls herself Gogo."

Sophie snorted at this description.

An enormous grinding noise silenced us all and a pillar rose up from the middle of the stage. It appeared to be girdled with a bank of steampunk consoles and quite a lot of flashing lights. The grinding noise stopped, and then, in a burst of music, it flew open, revealing a young white woman whose top was dressed in a silver jumpsuit, and whose lower half was a kickline of seven sets of robot legs. A drum line started. She leapt down to the stage with surprising agility for someone with fourteen legs, and subtle instrumentals started up. She started to declaim in a deep voice that was projected to several points around us.

People keep saying it's the end days,
Skynet's won, we've run the maze.
In the center is Room 101:
Can we boldly go when all is done?
All the things I tried to save
Are just putting flowers on a mouse's grave.
Game over, man, and everybody dies
And there's nothing to eat but lies, lies, lies.

"I do believe," Gloria said, "we are about to have a concert."

"Oh, god help me," Ruth said, taking the umbrella out of her drink so she could swallow it faster.

A robot guitarist, keyboardist, bassist, and drummer emerged from the surface of the stage, apparently fused to their instruments. I noticed the drummer had long hair so it could swing it back and forth. All of them were silver-skinned, like Gogo's jumpsuit and legs, but with gold accents. Gogo strutted down to the front of the stage (there's a lot of strut in seven sets of robot legs), seized a microphone that was dropped from above by one of her ubiquitous flying drones, and burst into song with a crash of music.

I won't be just a worker in the heart machine
I'm going to see the light of day.
I'm going to crack the world's shell is what I mean
Put on my wings and fly away.

Everyone asks me am I bad witch or good
Or one of the genetic elite
But I am telling you I'm Lilith's Brood
And we have never known defeat!

We're from Ultima Thule
And we include me and you.
She's the hero we need
Cause she makes us heroes too!

"Oh, no," Ruth groaned, and finished her drink.

Sophie looked contrite. But only a little. Nereid was watching Gogo with her mouth hanging open. An attractive androgynous Asian person appeared over Nereid's shoulder and raised inquisitive eyebrows at Sophie, who said defensively, "It's not my fault!"

Just living day to day
Learn to rise up and say
She's the hero we need
To sing Hero of Heroes today!

She's the Ultimate test!
In her Prometheus rests,
She's the hero we need
Because we give her our best!

I was pretty amazed at the dancing you could do with fourteen legs in perfect unison. At the end of the first chorus, backup dancers also melted out of the stage. I felt distinctly upstaged when I realized that they all looked just like my android body, except in silver. Talk about embarrassment for wearing the same outfit to the party.

"Hey," Larentia said faintly. She patted my shoulder apologetically.

Gogo spoke into her microphone again.

At Yoshiwara's we'll dance and fight
Always alone in the night,
But reaching out, touch hand to hand,
Galadriel or Servalan.
Is the Slayer really born this way?
Or Sleepless walk both night and day?
Or maybe we'll stand up and see:
You have no power over me.

Sister Power said, "None of this makes any sense. What the hell is a servalan?"

Sophie started laughing helplessly into her hands.

The music kicked up again.

For some reason, Gogo threw her microphone into the audience. Then, with a satisfied little smile, she leaned back and another one sprouted, or seemed to sprout, out of her chest. She grabbed that one and kept singing.

I noticed a middle-aged black woman, oddly wearing a suit on the beach, making her way through the crowd with purpose in her eyes. She didn't even flinch at the volume of the music. I nudged Ruth.

Ruth looked over. "Marilyn, heeeey, girl!" she said, waving her hand. I wondered idly how many of those giant glasses of booze Ruth had already consumed.

The woman, who I now recognized as Marilyn Henderson, lawyer to paras, arrived in front of Ruth with a grim little smile on her face. "Interesting entertainment."

"It's not what I would've chosen, true," Ruth said. "But the girl's got a good heart."

"And is showing a great deal of leg," Marilyn said with a glance upward.

"What're you doing, wearing that penguin suit here on the beach?" Ruth said. "Take that jacket off and set a while."

Marilyn straightened her shoulders in an ominous way that made both Gloria and I tense up. "Ruth Thomas, I am here to give you some important paperwork."

Ruth laced her fingers together and placed them under her chin. "At my birthday party." She didn't make it a question.

"Yes," Marilyn said. She whipped a folder out from under her arm and extended it to Ruth. "It couldn't wait."

Gloria's thin form had risen up and arched in a predatory fashion, inclining very slightly toward Marilyn.

Ruth sighed and took the folder.

We'll come down like angels on Tokyo

And we don't need roads where we're going.

At the end of the world can you tell me where

And in what way the time is flowing?

I can build my friends but I can't build you

A place for opossums to call their own.

But don't look back, don't blink I'm telling you

It's dhoom again but we are flown!

A hero right through

Like flying snow in bamboo

She's the hero we need

Cause she makes us heroes too!

Take my ansible call

'Cause it's for one and all

She's the hero we need

Cause she makes us stand tall!

She won't be suppressed

Or sent into the West

She's the hero we need

Because we give her our best!

Gogo chose that moment to distract us all with another spoken piece.

We need a hero that's worth our while
Whether Wonder Woman or Trio-style
So put on your clothes, or dye your hair
And sing electric grandmother
From Alderaan to Whileaway
The winning move is not to play.
They tell us we're beyond the pale
Bionic-made or automail,
Whether you are you or me
Virtual or karakuri
Rise up and greet Red Dawn today
Like Nauscicaa we'll fly away;
To Iskandar we'll fly away;
On ships that sing we'll fly away.

And she then started singing again.

Ruth looked back down at the folder in her hands, heaved another sigh, and flipped it open.

I have never before seen Ruth stunned. I'm not sure anyone has. Her whole body jerked and her eyes went wide and she stared fixedly at the papers. Then her hands began to tremble, and Gloria snatched the folder away before those tiny muscular tremors could reduce what she was holding to paper pulp.

Sophie had moved to stand at Ruth's shoulder, and I noticed her giving Marilyn what I sensed was a conspiratorial and questioning look. Marilyn's smile widened incrementally.

The thing about Ruth is that she is the most powerful para in the world. And so the fact that none of us saw her move is just not that surprising. The look on Sophie's face changed to triumphant delight as Ruth threw her arms around her, though.

"You two!" Ruth roared, only locally drowning out Gogo's band. "You two!" she said again, apparently at a loss for other words.

"What's going on?" asked Imara, peering curiously over Gloria's shoulder.

Gloria said, mock-grumpily, "That girl finally pulled her head out of her ass is what's going on."

Sophie said, breathless with embarrassment and her mother's embrace, "My adoption papers. I signed them."

She's returned from the blue

And Zaha'dum too--

She's the hero we need

Cause she makes us heroes too!

Dark Lords big and small

We will spit on them all

She's the hero we need

Cause she makes us stand tall!

Stand tall, stand tall, stand tall

Stand tall, stand tall, stand tall

Stand tall, stand tall, stand tall...

Gogo's army of tiny flying robots, which looked, I noticed, like dragonflies, chose that moment to shower us with her new album.

Larentia caught one and so did I. The cover was a brown-skinned woman's arm, reaching up as if to pluck a fruit from a tree, but the fruit was a giant oval containing a twisty, maze-like structure. To give Ruth and Sophie a moment of pseudo-privacy, Larentia began to read from the cover. "'Mitochondrial Eve,'" she said. "I like the title."

I overheard some people passing nearby. One of them said, "I liked her second album the best, 'Amazon Women and the Space-Time Continuum'."

The other said, "Oh, I haven't heard of that one."

"It was back when she was Gogo and the Gadgettes," the first said, and they drifted out of hearing.

"'My Mother's Positronic Brain,'" Larentia read from the track list bemusedly. "'Dear Mr. Heisenberg.' 'Cyborg Manifesto'?"

I skimmed down the list myself. "'Bad Chemistry,' 'Soylent Blue,' 'Love Me and Despair'."

Gloria said, with a roll of the eyes, "Anyone else get the feeling that child is trying too hard?"

Nereid, who I had forgotten, said wistfully, "She looks like she's having fun."

On stage, Gogo had swung into her well-known song, "A Robot of One's Own."

The well-tailored Asian person to whom I really needed an introduction said, "There's a dance floor over there, Pacifica. Would you care to join me?"

Later, around the time that Sophie was finishing up her guitar-playing on-stage with Gogo (oh, yes, she'd just happened to have her guitar with her), I overheard Suzanne saying to Watson, "Is this your work? Remind me never to piss you off!"

I looked over and saw Suzanne showing Watson her StarPhone. Watson frowned down at it, clearly puzzled. "No," she said after a moment, "that's not my work."

Suzanne noticed Metro looking her way, so she turned the display toward me. "'Aloysius MacCready, legally 93 years old,'" I read aloud, "'has been arrested on a charge of second-degree murder and multiple charges of armed robbery, among other offenses. MacCready was processed for a temporal displacement grant upon his return to this dimension, and had disappeared from his stated address. More in-depth analysis of historical records found that in 1932, he participated in an armed robbery of a bank for African-Americans during which he pistol-whipped a bank teller. The teller, 26-year-old Norman Jefferson, later died of the head trauma.'"

"I know the statute of limitations doesn't expire for murder," Suzanne said. "And the temporal displacement laws extend the limitation for the armed robbery charges. But the witnesses must all be dead, so how can they prosecute?"

Watson skimmed more of the article. "They had eyewitnesses who knew MacCready by name and appearance, and who gave depositions identifying him. So with that in hand, they could use the Stefanopolous Laws."

Ana had looked over from her conversation when I started to read, and now she spoke up with, "I think I've heard of the Stefanopolous Laws, but I've never been sure what they're about."

Suzanne said, breezily, "Watson'll have to explain. I'm too drunk. But they involved a vampire."

Watson quirked a smile. "Andrei Stefanopolous was a vampire who was a repeat spree killer. He was notorious in Europe in the late 1700s and early 1800s, and then he moved to New York City. They caught him after a rampage through an Italian and Greek neighborhood in the 1880s, but of course, there weren't para-ready prisons then, and he escaped to go underground again. He resurfaced in the same neighborhood 1952, and the grandchildren of the original people victimized went to the police with the photos from the 1800s and their own photos of him in the neighborhood, begging police to pick him up. They didn't -- all the original witnesses were dead and it seemed like too much trouble and besides, there weren't many people who actually believed in vampires at that point. So then he went on a much wider-spread killing spree."

"Oh, yes, the Vampire Murders," Ana said. "That's all in the college para history books."

"Yep," Watson said. "And after they caught him and the Gold Stars imprisoned him, the story broke that the police had refused to pick him up and why. So the Stefanopolous Laws were passed in a hurry to cope with immortal or temporally displaced violent offenders."

"Technically," a sleek, black-haired, white -- very white -- man said, sliding easily into the conversation and gently twirling his black parasol, "it is for the long of life, not the immortal. Because no one is truly immortal, yes?" He had an eastern European accent and what had to be a hand-tailored white linen suit. He was also the only person I'd ever seen wearing a Panama hat on whom it looked stylish.

Watson nodded and waved a hand of acknowledgement. "You're the authority there, Zoltan."

"Zoltan," Suzanne said in that floppy-headed drunk way some white women have, "it's night time. Why are you carrying that parasol?"

"Ah, dear lady," he said, "to protect against the bites of sharks."

"Oh," Suzanne said, blinking.

"Not to mention robots," he added, "and other undesirable things that fall from the sky."

"So what will happen to this MacCready anyway?" Ana pursued, having produced a StarPhone of her own and apparently searching for the article.

"He's being held in prison," Watson said. "Apparently some anonymous person provided the police with both his DNA and a single-use scanner to locate it, because he has para powers that enable him to avoid direct detection." She looked up and past the dance floor and nearest buffet table toward a line of well-occupied comfortable chairs.

I glanced in that direction and saw Sophie sitting there, with Nereid on her lap, chatting with Simon and Ivy.

"Who could've supplied a device like that?" Ana pondered, frowning at her phone.

Watson and I looked at each other, then back at Sophie. Sophie noticed our regard and gave us a smile and a little finger wave, as if she knew exactly what we were thinking.

---

Note from the Author:

Apologies if the table format didn't work well for you -- I optimized for what I thought would be a usual sort of view.

Gogo's song was written as a winter holiday present for me by my multiply-gifted, brilliant, beautiful, magnificent wife. I had been banging my head against how to do it, and then she volunteered. I don't think I've ever seen quite so many SF&F references packed into one place so effectively, and I think it also works beautifully as a pop song. (And yes, Lady Gaga DOES exist in the Wonder City universe, so Gogo IS in fact purposefully referencing her.) See this document (PDF) for most of the references.

Also, in case you're interested, the full track list for Gogo's new album, "Mitochondrial Eve", contains:
My Mother's Positronic Brain
Mitochondrial Eve
Dear Mr. Heisenberg
Cyborg Manifesto
Les Guérillères
Bad Chemistry
Soylent Blue
To Milton, Love, the Monster
Ultima
Love Me and Despair
The Doom Song
I Can't Be Having With This
Bonus Track: Schoolhouse Rock Mashup (feat. "Sufferin' for Suffrage")

---

Wonder City has been nominated for the Rose & Bay Crowdfunding Award! Thank you! Now, y'all should go check out all the nominees for fiction, webcomics, art, poetry, patron, and other projects. And VOTE!

And remember to vote for WCS at Top Webfiction!

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Wonder City Stories II #88

2012-02-02T17:39:48Z

Careful to Tuck Their Shrouds Neatly About Them

"So G has moved out," Pearl said, folding her hands in her lap. "How are you with that?"

Megan shrugged one shoulder. "It's her life."

Pearl raised an eyebrow at that, and let the silence stretch out.

"She's angry, you know," Megan said, looking down at her knees. "She says she's mostly angry at Watson for not doing anything for months, despite knowing that G was possessed. And I kind of wonder why Watson didn't do anything."

"Have you asked her?" Pearl said.

"Yeah," Megan said, plucking at her jeans. "She said she's really bad at being decisive about people she cares for. She was worried that maybe she was misreading the situation, and says she has always second-guessed her instincts about family and friends, because she was so often wrong about her parents and her sister."

"Do you believe her?"

"Yeah," Megan said, her voice coming out flat.

Pearl cocked her head. "I'm not sure I believe you."

Megan started to bang her fist into her thigh, and caught herself before doing it on the broken leg, because jarring the leg was an experience she didn't enjoy. She settled for grasping frustratedly at the air. "I don't know whether to believe me or not. I don't know whether to believe her or not. I want to trust that she'd always have my back, you know?" She sighed. "She's the first person in forever I've wanted to have my back."

"Not G?" Pearl said.

"Not G," Megan said, heaving a large sigh. "Not G. I didn't have time, really, to get that far with G. I'm not sure how much of the woman I met and slept with and lived in the same building with I actually ever knew."

"I'm sorry," Pearl said. "That sounds incredibly painful to realize."

"It is," Megan said, rubbing her throat and frowning. Her throat hurt suddenly, like she'd strained all the muscles leading up to her mouth.

"So now there's an empty apartment?" Pearl said.

"Actually," Megan said, glad for the distraction, "G told me she found a subletter. I only found out who it was this morning."

Pearl raised both eyebrows at her tone. "Not a welcome addition to the big house on Marigold Lane?"

Megan huffed. "It's Lizzie. Tin Lizzie?"

"The woman from the Wonderful House?" Pearl said.

"Yeah," Megan said, throwing up her hands in despair. "The crazy, crazy chick from Wonderful House. The one who stabbed her dad -- who, to be fair, was assaulting her -- on national TV."

"Well," Pearl said, "it sounds like your house is one place where she might feel safe."

Megan froze, staring into space, then slumped. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, I guess that might have something to do with it. I mean, Simon's across the hall, and I'm downstairs, and Mr. Hammer is in the carriage house, and our landlord is a fucking vampire, after all..."

Pearl watched Megan as the sentence drifted to a stop. Their gazes met and Megan nodded sharply.

"So what else is keeping you up at night?" Pearl said after a moment.

Megan had noticed in the mirror this morning that there were some serious dark circles under her eyes; she hadn't really expected Pearl to miss them either. "I guess," she said slowly, "the big thing is the Merlin."

"The Merlin?" Pearl said, and Megan remembered she hadn't told Pearl yet.

"The first day I was in Wonder City," Megan said, "almost as soon as I stepped off the bus, some guy tried to mug me. I heard him coming, from above, and I got him down on the ground, smashed his flight harness. And then this other guy... this guy in a hood and cloak showed up on the roof, called me 'Citizen' and said he'd been chasing the Merlin for... a while, I guess, days or weeks or something. So I handed the Merlin over to him." She inhaled slowly, and exhaled again. "And that guy in the hood was the serial killer."

"Oh, that's very hard. I'm so sorry," Pearl said.

"Yeah," Megan said. "Thanks."

Pearl said, "Did the Merlin give you any indication he was in fear for his life?"

"No," Megan said. "I think he thought the guy was a real superhero. He just seemed resigned."

"So -- and I don't mean this flippantly at all -- you're upset because you aren't a mindreader?" Pearl said.

"No," Megan said, her voice catching on her rage. "I'm angry because I reacted entirely to his white male authority: he was up on the rooftop, speaking down to me, addressing me in what I can see now was a parody of comic book heroes from World War 2. He was on his own turf, laying down the law. And I just rolled over without question and let him take the Merlin. I should have doubted him. I should have called the police. I'm an eight-foot-tall superstrong, invulnerable queer feminist of color, raised by an eight-foot-tall superstrong, invulnerable lesbian feminist, and I just fucking rolled over for the Man. And the Man did what he does best: kill people. Kill some poor, stupid, middle-aged crook who didn't deserve to be hauled down to the river and strangled."

Megan discovered that her hands were shaking, and she balled them up on her knees. But when she did that, she couldn't do anything about the hot tears that were suddenly running down her cheeks.

Pearl leaned over and pushed the tissue box closer. Megan carefully uncurled her fingers and pulled a tissue from the box to blot her eyes and nose.

"I'm having nightmares," Megan said finally. "I can't stop reading articles about the victims and searching for more information about them. Did you know that they're investigating a murder in fucking Acapulco as possibly being connected to the killer? They think it may have been his first murder, back when he was in high school and went down there for Spring Break."

Pearl's brow furrowed with concern. "Have you ever had this sort of reaction before?"

"Yes," Megan said wearily, "And I ran away from Berkeley because of it."

"Are you thinking of leaving Wonder City?" Pearl said.

"Yes," Megan said, staring at her lap. "I just... a new city, where I don't know anyone..."

"That's what you did coming here, right?" Pearl said. "You had all your things in a backpack and you took a Greyhound across the country, found a job the next morning, and an apartment a week later. What's to stop you from doing it again?"

Megan rubbed her face with her hands. "Watson, I guess. I mean, I know I want to see how this turns out."

"Is she really the only thing keeping you here?" Pearl said.

"No," Megan admitted. "There's Simon, who's the best friend I've ever had. And G, even though she's not here right now. And I like my job, I like working with my hands, and I think I've just about convinced one of the carpenters to take me on as an apprentice. And I like my apartment, and I have a good landlord, and..." She shrugged. "I guess I don't want to leave all that much."

"That sounds like a good analysis," Pearl said. She gestured apologetically at the clock. Megan saw they had less than five minutes left. Then Pearl added, "So have you revisited your feelings about spandex in light of recent events?'

Megan snorted and said, "Oh, yeah."

Pearl said, "What do you think, then?"

Megan waved a hand. "Being para makes normal problems huge and life-threatening. It doesn't matter whether we're wearing spandex or not. And I can't fucking get away from it, because I have these stupid powers."

Pearl smiled. "Well, that's progress in the direction you wanted to go, right?"

"Also," Megan grumbled, "all paras are freaking insane."

Pearl said, mildly, "Well, it's job security for me. Do you mind if I let the dogs in now?"

---

Note from the Author:

Megan just keeps acquiring more angst, alas. Just to let y'all know, we now have only 3 episodes left for volume 2, which means we will wind up this story just before my birthday at the end of the month, timing which I did not, actually, plan, but which is lovely nonetheless.

Also, thanks very much for donations received this past month!

Wonder City has been nominated for the Rose & Bay Crowdfunding Award! Thank you! Now, y'all should go check out all the nominees for fiction, webcomics, art, poetry, patron, and other projects. And then VOTE!

And remember to vote for WCS at Top Webfiction!

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Wonder City Stories II #84

2012-01-13T16:11:35Z

What Did I Know of Drowning or Being Drowned

The three of them said, "Oh, shit," in perfect stereo as they stared down at the fateful red lines. Nereid threw the stick into the trash with angry force, then sat down on the sofa, covering her face with her hands.

Megan and Simon exchanged glances, both of them raising their eyebrows interrogatively at the other.

"I wasn't sure what to think about my period," Nereid said, her voice muffled. "Everything was fucked up after the trip to Faerie, but I haven't had it once since I came back. I was puking in the mornings. I thought it was stress. But it kept happening after he left."

Simon sat down next to her and put a hand tentatively on her shoulder. "This is a hell of a shock, I know."

She shook her head, face still in her hands. "I should have known. I was so stupid. I believed him when he said nothing could happen in Faerie. That was stupid, a stupid teenager trick, the kind of thing those girls who've only ever had abstinence education believe. I should have known better. I made him use condoms after we came back... most of the time... but the damage was already done, I bet. The story. God."

Megan cleared her throat awkwardly, wishing desperately she'd been able to get hold of the Equestrian. "I expect you'll want to think about things..."

Nereid took her hands from her face and gave Megan an "are you crazy?" look. "There's nothing to think about."

Megan blinked. "No one you want to talk to?"

Nereid almost, but not quite, rolled her eyes, and Megan recognized a bit of the Nereid she met first in the shadow of the Perisphere. "My mom? No. Simon's mom? Even more no. No, no one to talk to, nothing to talk about, nothing to think about. Just my doctor."

---

Note from the Author:

I've only been there for one "Oh shit" moment, but it was definitely in stereo.

The Rose & Bay Crowdfunding Award nominations are open, and I would love it if someone were to nominate Wonder City Stories. Take a look at the other categories, just in case there's something else you want to nominate for voting! Voting happens in February.

Please remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #83

2012-01-11T16:23:54Z

Well, Hell...

Megan ran to the door in response to the frantic pounding and threw it open. Simon stood there, eyes wide, dressed in only a t-shirt and boxers. Ordinarily, this state of semidress would have distracted Megan no end, but his obvious distress was the bigger issue.

"Simon!" she said. "What's wrong?"

Simon shoved a twenty dollar bill into her hand. "Please," he said in a low voice, "go to the drug store and buy a home pregnancy test."

"What?" Megan blinked at the money, then at him. "Simon, what have you been doing?"

Simon tossed his head impatiently. "It's not for me," he said. "Jesus, give me a little credit." He started to run up the stairs, came back down, and said, "And call the Equestrian. Tell her to get her ass over here." He started back up the stairs again, pounded back down, and looked up at Megan with his best puppydog eyes. "Please?"

Megan sighed and shook her head. "Yes, of course. Go stay with Nereid. I'll handle it."

---

Note from the Author:

And here is the second short episode of the week, complete with continued Simon fanservice.

Remember to check out Wonder City Wonders, my new store at Cafe Press, with the TEAM SIMON design on all sorts of things!

And remember to vote for WCS! We were in the top 5 last I saw. Any chance of boosting to the top 3?

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Wonder City Stories II #80

2012-01-04T13:46:07Z

Exit, Pursued By a Bear

Megan maneuvered herself wearily up the front steps of the house on Marigold Lane. She wondered why it was as exhausting to sit at a desk, proofreading contracts and scrubbing the database, as it had ever been to fetch and carry on a construction site.

When she opened the front door, she heard voices upstairs, so she paused to listen to identify them. She recognized G's gruff tones -- she hadn't realized how much she'd missed them -- and a murmur that was definitely Watson's milder contralto.

At the foot of the stairs, she paused again to, frankly, eavesdrop.

"-- can't cope with living here right now," G was saying. "And I... I know I'm unreasonable about a lot of things."

"I admit a change of scene may do you good," Watson said. "But six months?"

"It's the contract length," G said. "It'll give me a chance to check out some of the really old architecture. I've been getting a lot of requests for Renaissance Italy, and photographs only go so far."

Looking up the stairs, Megan could just see the top of Watson's mousy head -- they were standing far back from the stair landing, against the door to the third floor.

"Gonna keep this place?" Watson said in a painfully casual tone.

There was a pause. "For now," G said. "I've got a subletter for the time I'll be in Europe. After that, I'll see how I feel."

"Ah," Watson said.

"I'm afraid I'll have to impose on you a while longer with the cats," G said, her voice wavering dangerously, but her phrasing carefully formal.

"It's the least I can do," Watson said softly.

Megan shook herself and crutched noisily to her own door. But she could still hear them as she fumbled her keys out of her pocket.

"You did your best," G growled. "I... wasn't clear. Asking for help."

"Megan was the reason I broke out of my idiotic indecision," Watson said.

Megan was transfixed by her own name.

"You're both good people," G said. "Great people. At least you two came out of this mess together."

"It doesn't have to be just the two of us," Watson said. "We've had this conversation before."

G laughed. "I saw Vivian a few days ago. She said you'd brought Megan to Death's place." She used the British pronunciation of Watson's sister's name. "Guess it's serious."

Watson sighed audibly. "Not any more serious than I ever was with you, and you know it."

"Yeah," G said quietly. "I guess I do. But this is what I mean. I'm so... angry. I'm unreasonable about everything."

"We'll take care of the cats," Watson said in tones one might use to soothe a wild animal. "Say goodbye to them before you go?"

"I... yeah. Yeah, I'll be by," G said.

Megan finished fumbling for the proper key on her keychain and promptly dropped the whole bunch of keys on the floor in a clatter. G descended the stairs as Megan was stooping to retrieve them, balanced precariously on her crutches.

"Hey," Megan said helplessly from her ridiculous position.

G smiled, showing new lines cut into her rugged features. Her red hair was newly shorn into a nearly military buzzcut that was starting to show some grizzle at the temples. She bent, scooped up the keys, and handed them to Megan. "Hey," she said. "I, uh, I wanted to let you know I'm... going away for a while. To Europe. For work."

Megan nodded. She spotted Watson at the top of the stairs and said, "Cool. That's cool. I'd need a change too. And for work, that's great. Is it one of the, uh, lizard folks?"

G grimaced. "Yeah," she said. Then she reached out and dragged her knuckles lightly down Megan's arm. "I never got a chance to thank you."

Megan clamped down on the strained, nervous laugh that was trying to burst out. She smiled -- she hoped she smiled -- and shrugged instead. "I didn't do anything. Ira and Suzanne did it all, you know."

"You tried," G said. "That counts for more than I can say." She flashed a last smile, though this one didn't reach her eyes, and nearly bolted out the front door.

Megan looked after her for a long moment, feeling a wrench of muscles somewhere in the vicinity of her throat. She looked up the stairs when G was out of sight, and Watson nodded.

"See you in a few," Watson said, then turned and trotted up the stairs.

---

Note from the Author:

First ep of 2012!

I'll be posting on a bit of an accelerated schedule over the next several weeks; you find out why soon enough. In any case, I hope you'll enjoy getting more than one episode a week!

And remember, if you've ever wanted a Team Simon t-shirt (or tank top, or mug, or water bottle), just check out Wonder City Wonders, my new store at Cafe Press. And if there's an item you'd like to get either of the existing designs on that's not in the store, let me know, I'll see if I can get it in there.

Please remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #75

2011-12-01T16:46:51Z

Snapping His Superfingers At All Man’s Trumpery Ideals

Megan wasn't sure why they were at the Tower of Fortune, but she'd long since learned not to argue when she saw that particularly grim and determined look on Watson's face.

The elderly Mr. Minamoto, resplendent in his Chinese garb, opened the door and smiled benificently at them both. "May I help you?" Then his gaze focused more tightly on Watson. "Ms. Holmes! It is a pleasure to see you again."

"Thank you, Minamoto-san," Watson said. "I was wondering if your employer might have a few moments to talk to me."

He studied her for a moment, then said, "My esteemed employer's consulting hours just finished, but I expect that he could be convinced to speak to such an eminent detective." He motioned them into the house, and said, over his shoulder, "Besides, I can hold his tea hostage until he does."

"Much appreciated," Watson said, winking back at Megan.

Megan tried to move quietly, but the walking cast was quite substantial, both with its own weight and the weight of the electrical stimulation unit that Professor Canis had sent her. So she clomped in a subdued fashion, and most of the noise was consumed by the Persian carpets. Unfortunately, she forgot to duck her head and so set the crystal chandelier ringing energetically. She tried desperately to quiet all the component parts with her big hands while Watson and Mr. Minamoto watched her, amused expressions on both their faces.

"Sorry," Megan mumbled.

Mr. Minamoto shook his head, shrugged (as if to say, "Not my place, don't much care"), and led them slowly up the blindingly white marble staircase. At the top, he tapped on the brass panel on the massive carved wooden door. As before, Megan could hear a pleasant chime in the room beyond.

The plate glowed and the door unlatched, and Mr. Minamoto bowed them through, retreating down the stairs before his employer could notice that he had more guests, not his tea tray.

Megan had decided since her last trip here that Professor Fortune looked rather like a 1970s troll doll, with crazy white tufts of hair and a round belly. The only differences were the little round gold glasses and the expensive silk suits he tended to wear under his gold-embroidered royal blue cloak of office. She had to give him credit: he only looked surprised for a fraction of a second, and if she hadn't been watching for it, she'd've missed it.

"Ah, ladies," he said genially. "Ms. Holmes, Ms. Amazon, what a pleasant surprise."

"I expect so," Watson said.

He looked like the failed pleasantry exchange put him slightly off-balance. "What can I do for you today?"

Watson smiled in a way that Megan could read as predatory, and said, "Tell me, Professor, when did you acquire the Marshall Building?"

Professor Fortune looked perplexed. "I'm... not sure what building you're asking about. I've owned a lot of real estate in the area."

"The Marshall Building," Watson said, "where an unidentified young woman's body was found last summer, just before demolition of the building."

"Ah, that," he said, apparently on firmer ground. "Sad case that, sad case."

"I understand you attempted to determine her identity?" Watson said.

"Yes," he said, sighing, "yes, I did. There just wasn't enough aura left to her for identification."

"It's a shame you didn't decide to share her identity then," Watson said, ambling around the room, examining items on some of the shelves and tables. "It might have given her sister some relief. Sadly, her sister passed away early this year."

"What... do you mean by this?" the Professor said, turning on the spot to keep Watson in view.

"I mean, Professor," Watson said, "that you knew who she was all along, didn't you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he said.

"No?" Watson pulled a volume off a shelf and flipped through it. "Isabelle Pierce. She was a young para woman who had lived in the Marshall Buildling. But she went missing during World War II, during the summer of 1943."

"Well, that's nothing less than I'd expect from one of our greater detectives," Fortune said, his face tightening into a mask.

"She'd been partly merged with the stone by someone who had the power to turn insubstantial. Interestingly," Watson continued, turning the book to better see something on a page, "there is no record of any para with the power of insubstantiality being present in Wonder City -- or, in fact, on the Eastern seaboard -- during the summer of 1943. All of them had been drafted and were fighting overseas."

"Fascinating," Fortune said, still watching her.

Watson reshelved the book and turned to face him. "No, really, Professor, what is really fascinating are multiple accounts of you being able to turn yourself and others insubstantial. Accounts that ceased to appear in any newspapers or para diaries after the summer of 1943."

Fortune stood very still, very straight, his hands clasped behind his back. "What are you suggesting, Ms. Holmes?"

"I suggest, Professor," said Watson, striding slowly closer to the man, "that you purchased the Marshall Building in early 1943, according to city records, in advance of the completely premeditated murder of Isabelle Pierce by means of your spell of insubstantiality. As building owner, you then had authority to brick up that particular portion of the basement so that her body would not be found until the building was demolished. A demolition you ordered last year, to take place after an architectural review you also ordered." When she finished, she stood very nearly nose-to-nose with him, both unflinching.

"You do your parents credit, Ms. Holmes," Professor Fortune said.

"Thank you," Watson said without an ounce of sincerity. "The thing of it is, Professor, I can't determine a motive. Would you care to enlighten me?"

"To save the world, of course," Fortune said, drawing himself up to his full height so he could look down at Watson. "You saw it in action yourself. The girl was a key player in stopping the machine that would have ended the world as we knew it."

"So you committed cold-blooded murder 67 years ago?" Watson said, honestly appalled. "Because you foresaw that she would be important in saving the world?"

"I would do it for nothing less," Fortune said haughtily.

"You know what?" Watson said, looking at him over her glasses. "I don't think that's nearly good enough reason. You murdered one woman and nearly caused another one to lose her life."

"And what do you propose to do about it, Watson Holmes?" Professor Fortune asked, smiling. "Denounce me in public? Call the police? You have no proof."

"I have your confession," Watson said.

"Hearsay," he said with a snort.

"In front of a witness," Watson said.

He glanced over his shoulder at Megan and visibly dismissed her. "Is that all? In the end, it's none of your business, Holmes."

Watson laughed. "'It's every man's business to see justice done,'" she said, in such a way that Megan knew she was quoting. "And every woman's too." Watson gave a little smile and walked past him to the door, gathering Megan to her side with a glance.

As Watson reached the door, Professor Fortune said, "I could burn you both down where you stand," his voice trembling only slightly.

"But you won't," Watson said, opening the door and gesturing Megan through. "Because I didn't need the legal sort proof to suggest reasonable doubt to Carolus Lew, Deliria, the Outsider, the Equestrian, Lady Klotild, or Madame Destiny." She shot him a winning smile. "And I understand that the Mystikai have their own form of determining guilt, and their own form of justice, which is probably more appropriate to this situation than the mundane sort anyway. Have a nice day, Professor." And she pulled the door shut after her.

---

Note from the Author:

I admit to a small amount of cheating in the style of Doyle to keep quite all the pieces of this mystery from you, though I did give you a few breadcrumbs. Sorry 'bout that. But Watson insisted. :)

Let's stay up high! Vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #72

2011-11-11T05:31:36Z

Death's Dinner Party

"So here we are, at Death's door," Watson said.

Megan crutched up the front steps of the narrow Victorian townhouse. "Do you really have to roll out the puns? I'm nervous enough."

"Puns relax everyone," Watson said, shifting aside as Megan gained the porch.

"Why did she pick the name Death anyway?" Megan said a little irritably.

"I suspect she didn't want to be 'Bree' and got tired of being 'Harry'," Watson said.

"'Harry'?" Megan said.

"Big sisters are cruel," Watson said, and rang the doorbell.

Al opened the door, his Apollonian face breaking into a bright smile as he recognized them. "Death!" he shouted over his shoulder. "They came!"

"Of course," Watson said, vaguely indignant. "I said we would."

Al raised an elegant eyebrow. "You've bailed before. C'mon in."

"More of my sister's adventures in action?" Death asked as she arrived in the front hall in time to see Megan maneuvering awkwardly under the low lintel.

"What, you think my adventures are inherently violent?" Watson said, following Megan in.

"I grew up with you," Death said. "Do you need to prop it up while you're sitting?"

Megan smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah, if that's not a problem."

"Oh, I'm pretty sure we can find something to fit the bill around here." Death gave Al a significant look, and he slithered past Megan and hurried down the hall. "We're not far from dinner, so let's get you set up in the dining room."

There were three women standing in the doorway between the dining room and the kitchen, but Megan didn't have attention to spare for them until she was settled in the large, reinforced chair at the end of the table and Al had brought a burgundy paisley-upholstered ottoman in and helped her get her leg onto it. Then she looked around. Watson was greeting the women with mild familiarity, and they all turned toward Megan when she looked up.

"Megan Amazon," Death said, waving a hand in the appropriate directions while she fussed with something at the vast mahogany sideboard. "Denny Silver, Vivian Chen, and Mack Janetsdottir."

Mack reached her first, a big, square, sixty-something white woman with short iron-gray hair, a weather-worn face of wrinkles, and a firm handshake. "We've been seeing your name in the papers," she said in exactly the rough, butch tones Megan had expected. "You do good work, kiddo."

"Thanks," Megan said.

Denny was an androgynous white woman who might be in her thirties, forties, or fifties, face smooth of most wrinkles and her short dark hair just starting to show threads of silver. She wore well-tailored grey trousers, a white men's dress shirt, and a patchwork vest made from sari material. "Yes, definitely," she said as she shook Megan's hand, then gestured down at the cast. "A badge of honor."

"Heh, well," Megan said, rubbing the back of her head with her left hand. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Pish, and also tosh," said Vivian, a curvy Asian high femme in a sequined little black dress and purple-toned eyeshadow and nails that highlighted one lock of her short black hair that was also purple. Her handshake was warm and thorough. "Still, I admire modesty." Megan was too distracted by everything else about Vivian to try to guess her age.

"Food!" Diarmid bellowed from the kitchen. He emerged, wearing pretty much what Megan saw him wearing before except that this apron read "Kiss the Cook or Make Him Cry." He was carrying a giant platter full of a large roasted bird of some sort -- Megan thought it was too small to be a turkey and too big to be a chicken. This was set at the head of the table, and then he hurried back out, returning moments later with a vat of mashed potatoes. Al followed with a heaping bowl of salad greens and pecans and goat cheese. Diarmid cycled back to the kitchen and appeared again with a bowl of steaming green beans.

Everyone settled down at the table, Watson at Megan's right and Vivian at Megan's left, Mack beyond Watson and Denny beyond Vivian. Death sat at the head of the table, Al on her left and Diarmid on her right.

"We don't say grace or anything in this house," Death said, brandishing a large, undoubtedly sharp knife and a large metal fork. "But it is the weekend of Beltane, so let's all think sexy thoughts or something while we eat."

"Mm, food and sex!" Mack said. "My favorite conflation."

"Better than Death and taxes," Watson said.

Death smiled at her mirthlessly and began carving the bird. Just a little vengefully.

"So, um, what do you all do?" Megan said politely to the trio of unknowns as they waited for the food to start getting passed their way.

"I'm a locksmith," Vivian said. At Megan's glance down at her remarkably sparkly fingernails, she grinned. "I have to take the polish off when I work," she said, mock-mournfully. "For some reason, people don't take me as seriously as they ought to. Besides, they chip like a chipping thing." She passed a hand over the shoulder of Denny, who was distracted by mashed potatoes. "She's a professor of high-energy physics at Wonder City U."

"I am, possibly predictably, a professor of women's studies," Mack said, winking at Vivian, "at the same eminent institution. And an anthropologist."

"Oh," Megan said.

"How about you?" Vivian said, serving herself salad.

"I'm, um, still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up," Megan said sheepishly.

"Meanwhile, she's doing construction gofering," Watson said.

"Thanks," Megan said to Watson through slightly clenched teeth.

"No prob," Watson said, clearly delighted with her self-appointed role as cattle-prod to the guests.

"Well, you gotta keep body and soul together, right?" Mack said, grinning in a way that threw all the lines of her face into relief. "I painted houses all through college and grad school, when I wasn't off in exotic places studying exotic brown people like everyone wanted me to. It was good money, and it was completely different from writing my dissertation."

"Where did you do your diss work?" Megan asked, mostly politely.

"Palau," Mack said. "In a tent on the beach."

"Sounds nice," Megan said.

"Can't get that kind of gig these days," Mack said, a little mournfully. "But, you know, you really couldn't back then either," she added cryptically. "So I do women's studies instead. I like the people."

"Neat," Megan said, at a loss for anything else to say. Fortunately, the parade of food came through. In a few moments, she had a heaping mound of buttered mashed potatoes, balsamic-dressed salad, green beans in lemon and parsley, herbed chestnut stuffing, and dark, juicy slices of poultry meat. She took a forkful of the meat and exclaimed, "This is fabulous! What type of bird is it?"

"Goose," Diarmid said, working on his salad. "And thanks, it's my grandmother's recipe."

"Except she usually made it for Christmas," Death said, adding pepper to her green beans. "I persuaded him that it fit any time of year."

"I save it for holidays, though," Diarmid said, leaning over to give Death a peck on the lips.

"So, Watson," Denny said, breaking the silent feeding frenzy that had ensued. "Death tells us you were behind that big newspaper splash about the serial killer."

Watson shrugged, slicing her meat into smaller-than-bite-size pieces. "It was just a bit of research."

"Aw, c'mon," Vivian said, "it's got to be more than that."

"Have the police confirmed that the camera kid was the serial killer?" Mack asked. "And not the TV kid? Or someone else?"

Watson shrugged. "They went to the cameraman's apartment and found quite a panoply of evidence. Maps of the city with certain areas highlighted. A scrapbook of newspaper articles and prints of blog entries about him. Most incriminatingly, a lockbox with items taken from the victims."

"'Items'?" Al said, his voice a little strained.

"Some of them were jewelry, like Yanaye Smallwood's missing locket," Watson said, "or the Steel Man's grandfather's watch. Others were... fragments. Like Dani Williams' false fingernail with the rhinestone set in it. Nothing entirely gruesome, like body parts, but certainly souvenirs. And I'm pretty certain they'll find that the things they couldn't identify from here will be found to belong to the Pittsburgh victims."

"Wow," Vivian said.

"What was the killer's name, anyway?" Denny said. "I haven't seen it yet."

At the other end of the table, Megan saw Death and Diarmid exchange an unreadable glance.

Watson fiddled with her wine glass, smiling mirthlessly, for a moment. Then she said, "You know, I'd rather not say." She looked up and glanced around at everyone at the table. "People get so hung up on the killer's name, and we tend to forget the victims' names in all the mess."

There was a bit of an awkward silence, but Mack nodded and turned to Watson, extending her hand. Watson blinked at the hand in surprise, then slowly took it. Mack shook her hand firmly, then turned back to dinner, changing the subject by asking Death how business was doing.

It took Megan most of dinner to understand from both comments dropped in conversation and body language that Denny, Vivian, and Mack were a threesome like Death and her boys. Well, actually, Megan corrected herself, not at all like Death and her boys. Because there was a vibe to Death's relationship where both Diarmid and Al were clearly lower on the power pyramid than Death herself. With the three women, there was a playful, familiar back-and-forth that had nothing to do with their relative ages (Vivian was possibly younger than Denny, who was clearly younger than Mack) nor the butch/femme/whatever dynamic.

Megan also noticed Watson watching everyone at the table. She could almost see the gears turning in Watson's head, snapping everything into pattern after pattern faster than lightning, finding the most likely ones and rejecting the others in ways that made her seem almost telepathic sometimes.

Death was keeping an eye on Watson too. Megan thought that Watson would have been a very hard older sister to have.

Dinner was a lovely thing, but Megan was drooping by the end of it, unable to do justice to the cherry and apple pies Denny had baked, or even to the chocolate shortbread Vivian and Mack had made. Her leg was throbbing, and she was thinking fondly of the bottle of painkillers she'd confidently left on her nightstand.

"I'm sorry, folks," she said, crutching back from the bathroom, which had been an exercise in cramming herself into a very small space in order to pee. "I think I'm just done for the night."

Watson stood up instantly, laying a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, hon. I should've noticed you were wearing down. Did you remember your meds?"

"No, and that's one of the problems," Megan said, grinning sheepishly at the solicitous group who were all getting up and gathering around. "I guess it's true that the narcotics make you stupid."

Everyone was gratifyingly kind and concerned, and shook her hand and Watson's. "Let me know if you need a cane or something made to size," Diarmid added.

"Well, I'm glad you made it," Death said, trailing after them into the foyer. When Watson turned to her, she said, seriously, "Really glad."

Watson seemed taken aback by this, but got her face under control quickly. "I'm glad we came," she said.

"So am I," Megan said.

"Come over again soon, huh?" Death said, looking at them over the edge of her glasses and smiling.

"Yeah," Watson said. "Yeah, we will."

The sisters looked at each other for a long moment.

Megan nudged Watson forward with her elbow, and Watson, to her credit, did go ahead and hug Death. It was kind of cute, Megan thought, the way Death's eyes got so big at the gesture.

Once the two of them were safely ensconced in Zoltan's VW bus, the Divine Sarah, Megan said, "You two," in a tone of disbelief.

"What?" Watson said, skillfully guiding the van along back streets toward Marigold Lane. "I hugged her, didn't I?"

"When was the last time you hugged her?" Megan said, trying to stay chatty and ignore the sharp stabs of burning pain she got with every jar of the car.

Watson thought a moment. "Our parents' funeral."

Megan let that sit in silence for a moment, then said, "I'm sorry."

"No," Watson said. "You have a point."

They pulled into the driveway, and Watson stopped to help Megan out, rather than wrangling with the garage. Both of them frowned to hear raised voices from the garden, and hurried that way.

"Is there something wrong with your hearing?" G was almost-shouting. "I said no. And I also asked you to get out of here. Do I have to get the police to eject you?"

They came around the corner of the house and found G in her shirtsleeves and jeans, tending a sizable fire in the fire pit, a sooty poker in one hand. There was a cardboard box on the ground next to her, and Megan noticed the corner of a frilly blue curtain hanging out of it. G was addressing a young white man in a polo shirt and khakis, his dishwater blond crewcut mussed by his hand running through it repeatedly.

Zoltan was standing in the shadows on the back porch, watching.

"I'm just asking for... for a little something," Dr. Insight said more than a little desperately. "That little locket she wore. Anything."

"And I said no," G said. "There's no locket, by the way. Nothing she wore was real. Like her."

"She was real!" he shouted. "Stop saying she wasn't!"

G very deliberately set the poker pointfirst in the ground and stepped up to him. "I'm going to say this very slowly. She was a ghost. She wasn't a full person. She was a piece of a person left over after a terrible crime."

Dr. Insight ground his teeth audibly. "Gwen was a person!"

G flushed brick-red with rage. "Don't you get it? That wasn't even her name. IT'S MY GODDAMN NAME THAT SHE STOLE."

Dr. Insight reeled back a few steps. G advanced.

"She stole my name," G said, her voice dropped to a growl. "She stole my body. She stole my apartment. She lost me my girlfriend, and nearly lost me my job. She was a crazy shred of a person, a parasite that tried to kill me and take everything that was mine." She poked him in the chest with one finger. "Nothing that she brought into my home leaves it except to burn. Nothing. Because the Meteor you knew was a thief and a would-be murderer and doesn't deserve to have anything left of her."

Dr. Insight took another step back, then turned and started to walk out of the yard. He came up short when he saw Megan and Watson. He hesitated a long moment, then started to turn back to G.

G watched him for a moment, her lips pressed together tightly, but when he opened his mouth to speak, she said, voice harsh in her throat, "And you were a lousy fuck."

He went stark white, then his eyes opened wide in horror. Dr. Insight turned and ran out of the garden.

G watched him go, then looked at Megan and Watson. Megan remembered to shut her mouth.

Watson said, elaborately casual, "Want a hand?"

G shook her head. "This is something I need to do."

Watson nodded. "Come up for a drink after," she said, then turned and guided Megan back to the front of the house.

They watched Dr. Insight's car cannoning up the lane, and Megan said, in a low voice, "Can someone even apologize for something like that?"

Watson shook her head and shrugged.

---

Note from the Author:

I'm late, but, um, better late than never?

Remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #69

2011-10-18T14:02:19Z

All Bones and Lonely

Megan opened her eyes, emerging from what felt like a profoundly restful sleep. She smiled and sighed, and moved to stretch, only to be jangled wide awake by sharp, breathtaking, burning pain when she moved her limbs. She shouted involuntarily, tried to sit up, failed because her abdominal muscles balked, and finally just lay still, panting and sweating.

A young white woman, blonde with dark roots, hurried in through a curtain. She was wearing a flower-printed jacket over scrubs. "Ms. Amazon?" she said, reaching to reassemble the covers. "How do you feel?"

"Like blazing hell," Megan said, staring at the blank off-white ceiling. "Hospital?" she said, then looked down at her arm and the tube running out of it. She didn't want to think about the technology generally used in Wonder City to get IVs into the arms of invulnerable people.

"Yes," the woman said. She glanced at the monitors hanging over and behind Megan's head. "You were brought in by ambulance from Staybird. Do you remember that?"

"No," Megan said. "The last thing I remember..." Was being told to shatter herself, and the wracking spasms, the sound and sensation of something breaking in her leg, the searing pain and heat in her muscles. "I was in a fight," she finished.

"Several other people were brought in from that fight, yes," she said. "Are you warm enough?"

"Yes," Megan said, distracted. "Who else?"

"I can't say, but there's someone that's been wanting to talk to you when you woke up," she said, and stepped out through the curtain.

A moment later, Simon, wearing hospital scrubs and looking damp, stepped into the emergency room cubicle. "Hey," he said, forcing a smile.

"Hey," she said. "What happened?"

"We won," he said. "You're still looking like shit, even though they got the blood off you."

"Blood? What?" she said.

"Nereid's power got changed in there. She was shooting blood instead of water. And then there was a whirlwind... thing," he said. "Everyone got sprayed."

"Shit hitting a fan," Megan said.

"Pretty much," Simon said. "They're waiting for your x-rays to process. Do you have any idea how much energy they needed to get through your skin?"

"Simon," Megan said. "How did we win?"

Simon's smile became fixed and he said very softly, without moving his lips, "I'll tell you later, all right?"

Megan sighed. "All right."

"Um," he said. "Meteor's gone."

Megan blinked. "Gone?"

"Yeah," he said. "Crazy ghost go down da hole. Ghost not come back. Ew."

"I can't remember what you're quoting and I don't want to know right now," Megan said. "What do you mean?"

"She... Ira and Suzanne convinced her to leave G and save Brainchild from getting sucked into Sator's... thing," Simon said. "She did, she saved Brainchild, and then got sucked in herself."

"Oh," Megan said. After all that, Sator had been the solution. She didn't feel particularly triumphant, though. Just sort of blank. "How's, um, how's G?"

"She's well enough that she helped Watson carry you out," Simon said.

Megan pressed her lips together, feeling unwarrantedly hurt that G wasn't the one here filling her in on things. Tears started to leak out of her eyes and she cursed while carefully wiping her face with the less painful hand.

Simon grabbed one of the hospital's typically thin, sandpapery tissues and mopped her face with it. "It's all right. The painkillers do that to you. Remember it was the other way around last time, and I was all soggy and pathetic?"

"Thanks," she mumbled. "I'm glad G's free, I just..."

"I know," Simon said. "Watson took her home, though. Renata's suggestion." His smile got a little crooked. "She said something about therapy cats."

Megan laughed, still crying, and sniffled, then laughed some more. Simon fetched the tissue box and stood there, alternately dabbing at her face and stroking her hair while she got herself under control.

"Sorry," she said finally.

"It's all right," Simon said again.

"How's everyone else?" Megan said. She finally noticed that both of Simon's hands were bandaged. "What happened to you?"

"Cut myself on glass catching Brainchild," he said. "After Wire's stuff cut her bell jar open."

"Wire!" Megan said. "That's right! Is she all right?"

"Lost her left hand," Simon said. "Below the elbow. It, um, wasn't salvageable."

Megan frowned and was about to say something. Simon shook his head very slightly and she subsided.

"Nereid broke her shoulder," he went on. "And cracked some ribs. She's also crazy malnourished and dehydrated, so they're keeping her in a few days."

"Wow," Megan said. "How did that happen?"

"Not really sure," Simon said. "The Equestrian said it had to do with that place, and that she couldn't eat or drink there, and that it's been a couple months or something."

"I'm not sure I want to know more," Megan said, sighing.

"And, uh," Simon said, looking away, "Brandon's dead."

Megan raised her head to look at him. "What? How?"

Simon looked at the floor and rubbed the back of his head. "The doctor said that he bled into his chest, and that stopped him from breathing and his heart from beating. Then they opened him up, and the blood was everywhere. Ruptured aorta or something." Simon paced a little. "The doctor said it's one of the commonest ways to die fast from a car accident or a para fight."

"Oh, shit," Megan said. "Shit."

"Yeah," Simon said. "He... I really hated him, but I didn't want him to die, you know?"

"Yeah," Megan said.

They were silent for a few minutes, and then the curtain was shoved aside by a brusque young white resident. "Megan?" he said, looking up from his electronic tablet with a smile.

"Yeah," she said.

He glanced aside at Simon, and Megan reached out, wincing, and took Simon's hand. The doctor gave a vague little shrug. "Anyway, the x-rays are nice and clear. You've got a fractured right tibia -- and nothing else is broken. How do you feel?"

"Like hell," she said. "There's a lot more pain than just my right leg."

"Probably all muscular," he said cheerfully. "It's nicely aligned -- someone did some excellent first aid on you while you were out -- so try not to move it and we'll cast it."

"How long for the cast?" she said.

"Depends on how fast you heal," he said. "The para orthopedist will be in shortly. They'll take you down to him and he'll cast you up. You should be able to go home..." He glanced at his watch. "Well, this morning, anyway." And then he bounced off.

"What do they hype their residents up on anyway?" Megan growled, plucking at the sheet with her free hand.

"Sounds like we'll be able to take you home in a few hours," Simon said. "I should go give your mom another call."

"Another call?" Megan said, eyebrows rising.

"Uh, yeah," he said, shuffling a little. "She gave me her number when she was in town at Christmas and told me to call her if anything ever happened to you. So, uh, I did."

"Well, I guess I know what'll be hitting my email box sometime today," Megan said with a sigh. "Look, I'm really sorry to hear about Brandon."

"Yeah," Simon said. "It's just... kind of weird right now. Jeshri called the producers. There's a meeting later today. Oh, but there's one really good bit of news: we helped get Brainchild back. The Equestrian and Renata are, I guess, stuffing her back in her body right now."

Megan closed her eyes and smiled, suddenly exhausted. "I suppose saving the Ultimate's ward counts for something, right?"

"Right," Simon said. He squeezed her hand gently and padded out.

---

Note from the Author:

Here are some things that sound like me tying up loose ends. Trust me, though, to make things more complicated than they sound.

Remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #68

2011-10-11T13:54:10Z

Resolving Powers

The wind was screaming. Simon leapt between Sator and Brainchild, teeth flashing. The Equestrian and Maelstrom banished the spell that entrapped them.

For one hollow second, the right side of Sator's face darkened and his eyes opened wide, mouth frozen mid-incantation. A pink mist coalesced in the air to the right of Sator. Then Sator dropped to the floor, his flesh crumbling stickily around his bones. The mist rained down and was lost in the general oversupply of gore.

The wind blew itself apart and the gears stopped cold.

There was silence.

"Well," said the Equestrian, staring at the remains of Sator. "That's a thing."

Holy shit, Simon said. Did she...?

My god, Ira said, she killed him. Took all the water... or blood... or something right out of his body.

It was the only thing to do, Suzanne said firmly, but I could feel her reeling with nausea.

We'll deal with that later, Watson said grimly. Start cleaning up, we're on our way.

Be careful, Maelstrom said. Magicians generally leave nasty surprises for posthumous applications.

So a few minutes later, a handful of Gold Stars bounced through the portal and found the Equestrian exclaiming, "I found your hand, Wire. I... think it got in the way when Nereid did her thing, though." She looked up from the object on the floor and said to Sekhmet, "Oh, hello. About bloody time you got here."

"My gods!" Sekhmet said, staring around the blood-spattered room in horror. "Who...? How...?"

The Equestrian snapped, "Later. Look, we've got a massive injury over there--" pointing to Wire "--and another couple of people down. Could you, perhaps, lend a hand?" She looked back at the floor. "I mean, help out?"

Simon was gently nudging Nereid with his cold nose, and Nereid was waking up slowly. I noticed he wasn't trying to, say, lick her face. She was blood, head to toe. (Of course, so was everyone else.)

Sekhmet and her compatriots (I recognized the Blue Eagle costume, but knew it had to be a new one -- or maybe not, if he'd somehow come back to life, which wasn't unusual for the spandex teams -- and the Green Hood) spread out, inspecting Megan and Nereid and Wire from a distance and looking up at the ceiling, where the hole was slowly closing up.

Watson and G went through the portal together and straight to Megan, who was still out cold (because I do my work right). They struggled a little -- she's a big girl -- but between them (and their minor superstrength) they backboarded her (why wasn't I surprised that Watson knew how to do that correctly?) and got her onto the giant-sized stretcher they'd brought.

Professor Fortune, in his cape and with his wacky Einstein hair looking especially Einsteinian, strode into the room like he owned it. "Ah, Molly," he said, smiling benignly at the Equestrian. He looked around quickly, and his gaze lingered on the funnel. "Oh, good," he said softly. "Nice to see the thing with the machine worked out."

Watson and G were slowly walking Megan out, and paused at the door while Watson gave the professor a strange, unreadable look. Her mind was shuttered completely from me. G shook her head at the solicitous Eagle and Hood, and gestured to Watson with her chin. Watson nodded and moved forward; they carried Megan out into Sator's shop, and the Eagle and the Hood followed them.

Sekhmet knelt next to Wire, producing a thick band of leather from some part of her costume to tourniquet the girl's arm.

"Bugger off, you useless toad," the Equestrian said to Professor Fortune. "This is my gig, not yours."

"Molly, my dear," Professor Fortune said, beaming at her, "I'm just here to help out with an analysis of the situation. The Gold Stars called me in."

"Analyze this, Harvey," the Equestrian said, flipping the bird at him (she did it both ways, in case he was too dim to figure out the British way). "Get out of here before Her Nibs notices that the self-styled Grand High Poobah of Earth is standing on her turf, from which, I note, he has been banned for more than four decades. I won't be responsible if she shows up."

The pool of blood on the floor rose up and coalesced gracefully into a replica of Nereid. It wasn't an exact twin: the replica was wearing a long gown streaked with all the shades of red and brown found in blood. Her face kept shifting and it took me a moment to figure out why: I was seeing her through the eyes of several people, and I guessed that her face altered according to the viewer's ideals of beauty. It was like looking at a very peculiar animation, especially since it was still recognizably Nereid's face.

I didn't even try to get near that mind. I'm stupid, not suicidal.

She turned and stared at Professor Fortune with the mad, cold expression of a bird of prey. He tried to smile urbanely and failed. She said in a voice that resonated in several registers, "You know the penalty, of course. I need not insult you by repeating it."

The Equestrian radiated an unholy glee as Professor Fortune backpedaled toward the door. I felt unadulterated terror from Tam Lane, who was trying to shrink behind a bit of debris.

"No offense meant, of course, Your Majesty," he said, pausing at the threshold and producing a handkerchief to mop his suddenly gleaming brow. "We had no idea that the door led to..."

The woman stared at him, motionless. Her dress rippled toward him liquidly where it met the floor.

He caught his cloak in both hands and bounded hastily through the door.

The Equestrian and Maelstrom both executed handsome bows to the creature that had manifested from the blood. "Your Majesty," the Equestrian said. "My apologies for not detecting this mess sooner."

She lifted a hand and gazed incuriously around the room. "You have stopped it, according to your bargain."

"I think we've a good bit more to do," Maelstrom muttered ruefully. The Queen ignored him as she swept into a walk so inhumanly graceful that it reminded me of a jellyfish.

Tam actually ducked his head beneath his arms as she glanced in his direction; I wasn't sure, but I thought I caught the traces of a smile on her face through the Equestrian's eyes.

The Queen paused and looked down at Nereid. Simon, who had turned human in order to lift Nereid's face out of a puddle of blood, looked nervously up at the Queen and I could sense from him that she didn't smell right -- not like blood, not like anything he'd ever smelled. "It is impolite to tamper with the lifeblood of another's realm, yet sufficient unto the day is the repayment thereof." She turned her head towards the Equestrian. "I forget the words," she said sweetly, with an undertone of malice so clear it was like metal. "How is it I should curse her?"

Nereid, who only just recovered real consciousness, looked up into that face and began leaking blood incontinently: I could see it dripping from her fingertips and it streaked her face like tears. I could feel her sheer, bone-draining terror: the closest I can describe it is that of an acrophobic being pressed to the edge of a sheer precipice.

The Equestrian blinked. Then her expression hardened, and she answered, "Your Majesty, I believe it is him you usually threaten, at least in the songs I am familiar with."

Tam came out from under his arms for long enough to shoot the Equestrian a hateful look.

The Queen raised a hand with impossibly graceful fingers -- and possibly too many of them -- to her lips. "Ah, now I remember. I cannot call shame upon her face, because after all, I am using it. Such shame as her ill-favored face may have is only that which she herself shall bring upon it. Let it be so."

She smiled at the Equestrian, as though she had just won a round of a game, and said, "Be off with you all, I want no more of you." With that, the figure collapsed to the floor in a viscous splash, the blood spreading once more into a shining pool.

"Can we get out of here now?" Simon asked the Equestrian. "Before someone changes her mind?"

Maelstrom strode over, nudged Sekhmet aside, and, with an interesting impulse of protectiveness I didn't poke at, picked up Wire, who looked grey and chalky. "Let's."

Sekhmet acquiesced to Maelstrom's preference and walked over to Simon. "May I? At least if I carry her, I can feel like I did something here."

"Please," Simon said. "Feels like she's broken her right arm and maybe some other things." He turned wolf again.

Sekhmet moved around to Nereid's left and carefully picked her up. Nereid's eyes closed.

Tam looked cautiously out from his hiding place, then rushed out to Nereid's side. He reached out for her hand, paused and grimaced. It was coated and shining with blood. Overcoming his squeamishness, he gripped her hand and looked into her face, murmuring, "Ah, my dear, my dearest." He trotted alongside as Sekhmet carried her out.

"Don't move her arm, you git," the Equestrian called after them. "It's broken!"

Nereid's eyelashes didn't so much as flutter. I couldn't parse the terror and anxiety I could sense from Tam, so I didn't try. Then they were through the door to Earth.

You look a mess, Suzanne said as she envisioned throwing her arms around Simon gratefully, and I let that go through, just to Simon.

He gave a wolfish grin and bounded out through the door.

The Equestrian took a last look around after the others had left. This is going to be a long night, she said.

Surely you're done? I said.

Not a chance, the Equestrian said, and let me have a little of her Faerie sight. I could see gaping holes ground into the dimensional wall as far as I could see. This is all over the realm. All over the Earth. We've got to gather up the escapees.

"Speaking of escapees," she added aloud, spinning one of her green balls of fire into a net. Her gaze moved to Brainchild, whose spirit was standing, looking around her with a horrified expression, in the corner of the room furthest from where the machine used to be.

Damn, girl, you have a rough job, I said.

"Yep," she said, flicking the net over Brainchild, who shrank down inside it into a green ball of light. The Equestrian strode over to pick her up, absently tucking Wire's mummified hand into her belt as she bent to receive the ball of light with both hands. She sighed.

Beer first, she said to me. Then onward. She strode through the door.

---

Note from the Author:

Okay! The cliffhangers are over, and the denouement has begun. What loose ends are you most looking forward to seeing tied up?

(Also, much gratitude to Akycha for helping me with the Queen's characterization.)

Remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #66

2011-09-29T12:47:02Z

L’appel du vide

"Now you," Sator said, glancing over his shoulder. "Megan Amazon, shatter yourself." I had to drop filters in place as Megan took a magical blast that went straight through her invulnerability, ran up every nerve ending, and back down, spasming all the muscles in her arms and legs. Meteor got an accidental punch to the nose from Megan, one that knocked her backward to sprawl on the floor.

On another "channel," I apologized quickly to the Wonderful House kids and dropped them out of the link entirely: Tom was in the ambulance with Brandon on the way to the hospital, Jeshri and Lizzie and Eartha were talking to the police and the Gold Stars.

Block her motor nerves, Watson said tightly. Do it now!

She was right, the spell wasn't stopping, and Megan was apparently strong enough to overcome her own invulnerability, judging from some of the pain I was reading. I stopped everything anomalous that was happening in her motor cortex and knocked her out. She dropped limply to the floor.

Meanwhile, Simon's shape swarmed up to human form (naked) and lunged for Brainchild. His hands couldn't touch her, but he managed to catch the glass fragment -- presumably magical -- that her spirit was standing on. There was a stab of pain as the razor edges of the glass sliced into his hands. Brainchild was stable for just a second, then her spirit turned and tried to grab onto the glass, as if she was being sucked into the funnel by some secret wind.

"Oh, let her fall, child," Sator laughed. "Let her fall and see my century-old plan come to fruition at last!"

Nereid hit him with a firehose blast... of blood. While he sputtered at the mouthful he'd got, she stared at her hands, and I could feel the hysteria welling up amidst her panic.

It's not permanent! the Equestrian snapped at her. It's just this place doing it to you. Do it again!

I can't help her! Simon exclaimed, gripping the glass that was slippery with his own blood and trying to pull it away from the machine without losing Brainchild. She's going to fall!

Meteor! Ira snapped. You're a spirit when you're not in that girl's body. Do something.

The Equestrian and Maelstrom were attacking Sator again to distract him. Nereid, to give the girl credit, pulled her shit together and added her geysers of blood.

Meteor hesitated. I'm not sure I can, she said. Can't Renata help her?

I can't reach her mind, I said. I've tried. And I'm not spiritually telekinetic anyway.

Meteor, you have to save her! Suzanne nigh-shouted. You're her only hope!

Feeling Meteor peel out of the body she was possessing was like nothing I'd ever felt: like someone burning their skin off, and then being totally without pain because there were no nerves any more. Her spirit leapt out of the woman -- G, Watson told me -- and threw herself across the mouth of the black abyss just as Brainchild slipped off the glass. Brainchild hit the "surface" that was Meteor and bounced off her onto the floor.

Meteor said to me, I only ever wanted to be a hero, before her grip slipped and she was sucked into the void, her mind sliding too far away for me to reach.

G staggered backward and fell over Megan. I apologetically seized control of her motor functions, got her ass up, and walked her out the door.

One less potential victim in that room. Go me.

---

Note from the Author:

Because I'm mean, here's a new challenge for Team Commentariat: 15 commenters get you a third new episode on Saturday!

And remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #65

2011-09-27T18:41:34Z

Hope Like Hell That Man Is an Evil Man

Megan shouldered Meteor aside and leapt over the contorted body of the serial killer they'd chased and through the doorway. She felt Meteor follow via the link. In a corner of her mind, Megan was very impressed with Renata's power -- not every telepath could maintain contact with multiple minds through a dimensional gate, even initiating new links on the other side of the gate. In fact, Megan couldn't think of a single telepath in the literature who could.

Sator's a showier mage-type than we thought, she reported to Watson.

Sator was inspecting his opponents coolly from his vantage point, hovering well above the floor. "Ah, you," he said, his gaze falling upon the Equestrian. "I wondered when she would send you my way."

"You can hardly imagine that she'd ignore what you've been doing here," the Equestrian said, rolling a green glowing ball from hand to hand.

You knew what was going on? Nereid exclaimed in the link.

Of course not, the Equestrian said.

What is going on here? Simon asked, and Megan could hear an echo of the question from Suzanne and Watson.

If evidence can be believed, the Equestrian said, he's collected hundreds of human souls to power an interdimensional engine.

"She rarely cares about the outskirts of her realm," Sator said.

"She cares when you start rearranging the furniture in her house," the Equestrian said, gesturing upward.

"Oh, she'll like the results," Sator said with an unpleasant smile. "For about five minutes. And then I'll destroy her."

The Equestrian looked over at Maelstrom. "Where've we heard that one before?"

"Only every two-bit pretender that's come along," the horse, now much more horselike, said.

I think you all should probably back out slowly, the Equestrian said. We're used to dealing with blokes like this.

Sophie! Nereid and Wire said simultaneously, and Megan noticed, for the first time, the bell jar containing a tiny version of Brainchild.

Dammit, the Equestrian said, and there was an edge of dawning horror from her mind. She's probably the linchpin to kick his machine into high gear. There are few things more powerful than a disembodied living human spirit in this realm.

Bugger, Maelstrom said, and stepped in front of the Equestrian again just as the room became a fireworks show of multicolored magics.

"Where did you get this many souls, Sator?" the Equestrian said, gesturing a magical shield into existence.

"I've been here a long time," Sator said. "And humans -- particularly paranormals -- are very useful for fetching and carrying."

Like the serial killer? Suzanne said. I wonder if he demanded the victim type switch for some magical reason.

"Like the poor chump you've been using lately?" the Equestrian said, raising blue vines from the floor to entrap Sator.

"Oh, he was a killer to start with," Sator said, creating a shredding whirlwind around himself that took the vines to pieces. "He came to me, pathetic thing, wanting to know how to get rid of the ghosts that were following him. So I took them away, and tucked them here for safekeeping. And he went off to make more."

"Not all girls, though," the Equestrian said. Maelstrom kicked a ball of fire up at Sator.

"Oh, it was some Oedipal thing," Sator said, flicking the fireball away. "He didn't get to kill his father, so he wanted to kill his father. I promised to raise his father so he could kill him -- imagine me going to all that trouble for a foolish little creature like that -- and he went out to fetch more souls. But temptation took him back to his original targets. Humans are so predictable."

There you go, the Equestrian said to Suzanne.

That's terrible, said Suzanne.

At least there won't be any more, Ira said comfortingly.

By this one, Suzanne said.

Megan looked around as she ducked the lightning and fire and wind. There was a big, heavy control panel nearby, behind Sator. She ran to it and found herself face-to-face with Meteor, who apparently had the same idea. They nodded to each other, bent, and jammed their fingers underneath the solid mass of steel and lights.

Megan counted, One... two... THREE! and they both heaved with all their might.

The panel tore free of its moorings and slammed into Sator's back, exploding into more lightning and fire and wind.

Sator lost concentration, apparently, as his part of the fireworks ceased for a moment. There was a whirring, whining sound that cut through the air, and Wire's trademark wires, which she reputedly never used on living things, lashed out to wrap around Sator.

His clothing was reduced to ribbons, but his skin was impervious. He pursed his lips and raised a hand. The wires rebounded, lashing back toward their creator.

Wire leapt aside just a fraction of a second too late, and her left arm just... fell off below the elbow.

Megan felt Renata clamp down on Wire's reaction, but she saw the blood burst onto the floor. Wire fell, clamping her remaining hand over the stump. Somehow, Wire stayed silent against some sort of desperate panic that Megan didn't understand.

Worse, the churning, spinning wires kept on and slashed through the glass bell jar that hovered above the funnel, sending glass fragments everywhere.

Nereid screamed as Brainchild's spirit slipped toward the abyss of the black cone.

---

Note from the Author:

Ten commenters get you the next episode on Thursday!

And remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #64

2011-09-24T13:53:32Z

Meddling in the Affairs of Wizards

The door in the middle of the room burst open and the tail end of an ear-shattering scream blew in.

Maelstrom stepped in front of the Equestrian. Wire stepped between the door and the device holding Sophie's spirit captive. Tam stepped behind Nereid.

A light whipped through the door and struck Wire in the chest, knocking her flat. It continued unimpeded on its path into the funnel, spiraling down into darkness.

There was a pop. And another one. And another. The pops came faster and harder, like a machine gun, and Nereid suddenly realized that the walls of vacuum tubes were shattering, making noise like champagne corks in a fire, and the lights were diving down after the first, consumed by the funnel.

The shrieking scrapes of stone on stone and the thrum and grind of the gears sped up around them.

As Wire picked herself up, a little balding man with white hair and muttonchop sideburns wearing an out-of-date suit stepped through the door, tossing aside a small device that looked like a miniature gramophone.

He stopped, staring at them all through his wire-rim glasses, first with bewilderment, then with growing rage.

"Will interference from you confounded paranormals never end?" he demanded angrily.

"I don't suppose it will," the Equestrian said, a ball of green light growing in one of her hands.

There was a crash from the other side of the doorway, and Nereid heard a familiar voice shouting, "SATOR!"

"Megan?" Nereid exclaimed, then clapped both hands over her mouth as Sator glanced at her, amused.

"Don't worry, dear," he said, removing his glasses and tucking them in the breast pocket of his shirt. "I already knew her name. Humans are so careless."

The great golden-furred wolf was, apparently, just as much a surprise to Sator as it was to the rest of them, especially given the way Simon tackled Sator squarely behind the knees, knocking the magician on his face.

"Oh, that'll piss him off," Maelstrom said, snorting flame out of his human-looking face. "Magicians are sticklers about their dignity."

Simon looked up and around at everyone, and his gaze locked on Nereid. The next moment, Nereid felt someone in her mind.

Pardon the intrusion, Pacifica, a sweet, mild woman's voice said. My name is Renata Scott, and I'll be your telepathic link for today.

Oh, thank fuck, a way to talk, Wire said into the link.

Excellent, the Equestrian said, and her mental voice was much older than her physical one.

Sator rose up from the floor in a graceful swoop, his feet well above the ground and energies crackling around each hand. "I have no patience for this," he intoned.

The dome continued to open its eye to another sky wider and wider.

---

Note from the Author:

HERE IT IS! Third episode for the week! Thank you all so much! Next new episode: Tuesday!

And remember to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #63

2011-09-22T14:00:02Z

Definitely a Boojum

Where the fuck did he go? Megan said through the link.

This way! Simon said, and everyone paying attention could smell slightly scorched spandex and male sweat, with a number of overtones none of them could identify, but I could feel Simon's translation: fear, rage, hope, desperation, frustration.

Meteor shrank down to about ten feet tall so as to follow Simon, since she'd lost her aerial view of the killer in the shadows almost immediately.

Down this street? Megan said, skidding around the corner after the much tighter cornering of the wolf. But this is...

Sator's, Watson said. He's gone to Sator's. Don't you remember him?

For the second time that night, Megan had a bitter taste of memory that I had to filter and poke her out of. C'mon, girl, no time for expository flashbacks, I said.

They paused outside the door of Sator's, which was neatly closed. Simon listened.

"Sator! Sator!" Camerabro was bellowing, moving away from them into the store.

"What is it?" came an irritated reply, and I could feel, via Watson and Megan, that it was Sator's voice.

"It's all gone to shit," Camerabro said. "Instead of just the kids and the dog, there was a spandex ambush."

I could hear Megan thinking, NOT spandex, very loudly. Meteor shot her a hateful look.

"And so you've come here expecting what exactly?" Sator said, and his voice was a silken-smooth growl.

"Enough power to get you what you need!" the cameraman said. "You wanted one more soul. I can get it for you. But first I need what you promised me."

"Were you followed?" Sator demanded.

Meteor started forward, but Simon said, No, wait, and kept listening.

"Damn you, give me what you promised!" the killer shouted. Then he moderated his tone: "I'll go get a soul for you. Three souls. Six souls. I'll bring them all to you! There are so many girls out there in this city, so many with soft throats and powers that bounce off me. I can kill them all."

"Were you followed?" Sator said.

"I'll bring you more souls than you can count," the man said, "just give me what you promised and I'll go out and get them for you."

Sator said, his tone hard as diamond, "You brought them here, you fool, you hopeless excuse for a human. And now I shall have to kill them myself."

"I'll do it!" Camerabro shrieked, and the shop was oozing the scent of terror now. "I'll take care of them...!"

"I don't think so," Sator said, his voice matter-of-fact. "I only need one soul, and yours is as good as any."

I didn't have time to shield myself much, but I managed to shield everyone else in the link from the mind-searing death that went with the most horrible scream Simon, Megan, Meteor, and I had ever heard torn from a human throat.

---

Note from the Author:

YES! You all did it! If you do it again (ten comments), I'll post a THIRD new episode on Saturday!

Vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #61

2011-09-15T14:10:40Z

I Have a Bad Feeling About This

The energy flare receded quicker, Suzanne thought, than it would have had she seen it in the flesh rather than through the telepathic link.

The cameraman -- the killer -- was standing there, his costume tattered around the edges and smoking lightly. He laughed, a short, ugly sound, and stepped toward Lizzie, who was still dazzled by her own attack.

MOVE, LIZZIE! Simon and Megan both screamed through the link. Lizzie threw herself backward as he lunged forward.

From one side came a swoop of wind and something hit Camerabro hard in a tinkling crash of machinery. He flew backward a good ten feet, landing in a bed of tulips.

The camerawoman, Eartha, dropped the remains of her useless camera. "I always KNEW you were an asshole!" she screamed, skidding to a halt six inches above the ground.

(Renata picked her up into the link, and Suzanne could hear the edges of Renata's high-speed explanation to Eartha. The camerawoman circled rapidly behind the House crew.)

Jeshri noticed Brandon bending down and retrieving something that had bounced to his feet: it looked like a tiny gramophone, with a large black horn and a box made of moving gears.

Camerabro made an incoherent noise of rage and bounded to his feet, then to Brandon.

Brandon looked up at him, still with that silly little smile on his face. "Bro?" he said, and held the thing out to him.

The cameraman snatched it out of his hand and slammed Brandon out of the way with a backswing of his forearm, starting for Jeshri again.

There was a moment's stab of panic through the link -- from Jeshri, who was too far from the light post to grab any electricity, from Lizzie, who had depleted her stored energy, from Simon, who wasn't sure he could get there in time, and from Megan, who was leaping for him.

Then Meteor's giant hand swatted the killer away as casually has he'd just swatted Brandon. He flew in a neat parabolic arc back toward the entrance to the park.

Simon was running as fast as his four legs would carry him, which was blindingly fast to Suzanne, and snapping through the link, Goddammit, Meteor, you DON'T fucking throw the supervillain so he's CLOSER to civilians. Megan, c'mon. The rest of you, stay here and call the cops!

What was I supposed to do? Meteor snarled. Invite him to dance?

Knock him into the river. Squash him flat. I don't care. Simon bounded over a bush. But move your giant ass. Let's try to stop him from killing anyone else.

Oh, Simon, Suzanne thought, Simon, be careful. She remembered him telling her about going to classes at the Gold Star Academy when he was a teenager, learning how to be a better team leader and all that. She thought, You may not be in spandex, but spandex keeps chasing you.

The boy's all right, Renata said. He knows what he's doing.

Yes, Suzanne said, and didn't add, But so did Mitch. She wrenched her attention away long enough for a gulp of coffee and a glance at Watson's intent but calm face before diving back in.

---

Note from the Author:
Yes, I am cruel. The next new episode will be next Tuesday!

Vote for WCS at Top Web Fiction!

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Wonder City Stories II #59

2011-09-08T14:09:59Z

Secret Identities Hide Many Things

"Move!" Megan hissed, springing to her feet and starting to run.

She felt more than saw Meteor catch up with her and whisk her into the air by catching her under the arms. She managed not to flail her suddenly relativley tiny size-32 feet in the air while this happened.

It was a matter of three giant strides across the park (she'd have to beg Ladybird to come out to fix the crushed bushes and snapped-off trees) and Megan was back on the ground.

Simon's empty trouser legs barely protruded from a fist-sized hole punched in the ground. The shredded sweater was nearby. A giant golden wolf crouched, snarling, between the housemates and the newcomer who was rising to his feet, a white man in midnight blue spandex and a billowing, hooded black cape.

A horrified shock of recognition rocked Megan back on her heels. Fuck! I know him!

Really? came Watson's interested query, over the flurry of other inquiries.

I met him my first day in town! Megan said, blank with horror as the man turned his sparkling, if somewhat sinister, large-chinned smile on the crowd. He was chasing the Merlin. Oh my god. Oh my god. I handed the Merlin to him. He said he'd been after him, and I just handed him over. I as good as killed him!

FOCUS! Renata's mental command poked Megan straight in the adrenal glands. Angst later, girlfriend, she added, a little more kindly.

The man had spun to face Megan and Meteor, and just seized Meteor's ankle and tossed her partly into the air, off balance. Meteor shrank rapidly as she fell, and she dropped with a crash into a copse of trees and boxwood hedges. He turned to Megan.

He had been trained to fight, somewhat. He knew how to throw a punch, for instance. Megan's arm registered a significant impact as she blocked -- she guessed that Watson's Class 5 estimate might be a little low.

Unfortunately for him, she'd been trained better.

When he skidded to a stop, shoring up against the lamp post recently vacated by Brandon, Simon pounced on him. The man twisted away, rolling to his feet. Simon's flashing teeth caught and tore off the hood and cape, leaving his face exposed. His eminently recognizable tiny eyes and birthmark shared space with a bleeding scrape across his cheek where one fang had scored him.

"Bro?" Brandon said hesitantly. Events had apparently confused him.

The cameraman's eyes narrowed and he slapped something on his belt. The camerawoman, Eartha, yelped and dropped her rig as it sparked vigorously.

The streetlight flickered briefly, but the hardened Wonder City infrastructure held.

"No more film," he said, sneering. "Just you all, dying."

"God, I've wanted to do this forever," Lizzie said, and, raising her arms toward him, dumped a vast red explosion of energy into the killer.

---

Note from the Author:
And I've been SO eager to post this, so THANK YOU ALL for commenting!

I believe it was interleaper who remembered the very first person Megan met in Wonder City. (Correct me if I'm wrong...) Good memory, indeed!

The comment incentive will return next Tuesday!

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Wonder City Stories II #57

2011-08-30T22:09:37Z

Battlestations!

I settled into what I call my long-haul chair. It's intensely soft and it floats on some sort of magnetic cloud and is more stable than the floor, so even if I lose my shit and try to get up without the proper escape sequence, it won't totter over or anything. All my monitoring systems were online and checked. All my robots were nearby to try to minimize anything physical that I might try to do to myself. I had taken my pain medications and my focus-enhancing medications. At hand was an automated system that could detect incipient psychic flares (which are like solar flares, except they disrupt mental processes rather than electromagnetic processes) and either administer a fast-acting intramuscular tranquilizer or a hard electric shock, depending on the predicted magnitude of the flare.

I took a few deep breaths. It had been a while since I last did this. Being the nexus of a telepathic network is a surprising lot of work, primarily filtering of content and translation of the way that a given person thinks about things into a mutually understandable language. Doing this for a group of non-telepaths simultaneously requires the most exacting walls and split-second multitasking. I expected, when I agreed, to be wrecked for at least a week afterward.

I had remembered to go to the bathroom before I started. My mother had crammed some valuable life lessons into my brain on those long car rides to the Shore.

"Imaging on," I said, and the computer flipped up photographs of my telepathic targets. Which first? I contemplated the Wonderful House crew and decided, as I had expected, that I felt the most connection to Simon, so I focused on his photo, paying minute attention to the perfect lines of his jaw and cheekbones, the tight ripples of his brown-black hair, the yellow eyes behind their tinted shields...

Hello, Mr. Canis, I said when the tingle of contact rippled down my spine. His was a warm, quick-moving mind, full of an idealism I'd not had since I was eight or so.

Hello! he replied, trying not to sound startled, though I knew he was. A pleasure to, uh, meet you.

He had the pleasantly repressed mind of someone who has been trained to cope with psionics. The pleasure's mine, Mr. Canis. I stopped short of telling him I was a fan. Nothing like having a telepathic fangirl in your head to make you nervous.

Now it was easy. I looked at the others through Simon's eyes (and his other senses, which were distractingly acute) and added them to my collection: Jeshri, whose mind was a sharp stacatto of thoughts like blows; Tom, who was in an agony of fast-moving anxiety; Lizzie, whose world was always a little blurry; Megan, who was quivering with a steel-jacketed terror; Suzanne, whose inner world flew apart in pieces and crashed back together with her heartbeat; Watson, whose turbulent ideas had parted and smoothed for my entry; and to my surprise, Suzanne's father-in-law Ira, who was abuzz with excitement and nostalgia.

I stopped short of picking up the camerawoman, and after a quick consultation with Watson, left her out. She had not, after all, consented to a telepathic link and all its risks. I did scan her quickly, though, and discovered that she was Jeshri's camerawoman, her name was Eartha (yes, named for Eartha Kitt), she was, in fact, para, and she was rather nervous and excited about all this. At least they'd warned her it might be dangerous.

I saved the ghost for last. Meteor was alarmingly present for someone possessing another person, and I only got the faintest whiffs of the host personality. I wondered if Watson had set this up to see if I could pry Meteor loose from her moorings. I would believe in that sort of Machiavellian scheming from her.

All right, I said to them all. Everyone's in the loop.

I naturally picked up things I shouldn't know from their subconscious emotional levels. It shouldn't have surprised me that Megan and Simon had a history, I suppose, but it did; they'd played it very cool in Megan's one appearance on-screen. Watson and Megan were lovers, and both of them had been involved with the woman possessed by Meteor, resulting in some spectacularly conflicted emotions. Suzanne and Simon, of course, were desperate for each other. Lizzie had mad crushes on all three of her housemates (that was another surprise). Meteor hated everyone equally for being strange, perverted, and living (that was not a surprise). Lizzie also felt like she really should have gone before she left the house; I had to filter that like whoa or everyone would need to pee, including me.

Thank you, Watson said once I'd delivered all the general greetings. Her mental voice was crisp and snappy, and she was also speaking aloud for Eartha's benefit. You all know where you need to be. Megan, Meteor, you start now. House crew, give them two minutes and then start strolling to your destination.

What about you? Jeshri said. She was speaking aloud as well.

I'll be only a few blocks away with Suzanne and Ira, coordinating with Renata's help, Watson said.

There was a wisp of an apology as soon as my first name came out. Nothing like being inside each other's minds to bring everyone to a first-name basis, is there? I assured her.

Amusement came back from Watson, and I turned my attention to following Megan and Meteor.

The two of them proceeded in silence that was angry on Meteor's part -- I could tell she hadn't been entirely warned that she'd have to work with Megan -- and irritated on Megan's part -- because Meteor was snappish and because she had a terrible conflict between wanting to hate Meteor and having some sympathy for the girl. They were trying not to be noticeable as they hurried to the dilapidated dock where they were to hunker down and wait. Meteor, growing, could get them to the meeting place in a few seconds rather than the couple of minutes it would normally take to run there. I would have to do a tight job of filtering on these two: Meteor not only hated Megan but was terrified of her, particularly of being touched by her. A contagion sort of terror. Homophobia at its most refined. Lovely.

I watched the Wonderful House crew trying to stroll casually to the appointed meeting place. Jeshri and Lizzie kept exchanging reassuring hand-squeezes. Tom was concentrating on looking as intimidating as possible, throwing back his broad shoulders and puffing out his chest. Simon was quivering with nerves, paying exquisite attention to every breeze and every sound. He was worried about being able to get out of his clothes fast enough, and so had worn a thin knit v-neck sweater and a loose pair of linen trousers -- things he knew he could rip easily.

Watson was chattering easily and meaninglessly with Suzanne and Ira. Ira was peppering her with questions that even I could tell came from long experience -- no wonder Watson wanted him there as part of her strategy team. If nothing else, he could make a general prediction of the behavior of most sorts of supervillains.

I took a deep breath and consciously relaxed the muscles that had tensed up during this preparation.

It was almost midnight.

---

Note from the Author:
And so...

Beginning next week, I'm starting a new comment incentive: if I get 10 or more comments on the posts I make on Tuesday -- and they can be ANY comment, from "Hi" to "+1" or whatever, anything to tell me you're out there! -- I will post the next episode on Thursday. This incentive will continue at least through the climax of the story.

We're also falling down the Top Web Fiction hit parade, so please click the banner below to vote for WCS!

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Wonder City Stories II #56

2011-08-23T14:50:43Z

Half the Victory

"So you asked me to beg, borrow, or steal Friday off," Megan said, looking down at the top of Watson's mousy-brown head, "because you wanted to spend the day in bed?"

Watson stirred drowsily. She was stretched full-length on Megan -- a position Megan had found many of her lovers preferred -- with one ear to Megan's chest. "I find," she drawled, "that I think more clearly when I'm relaxed, don't you?"

"Well," Megan said, running her fingertips over Watson's pale skin, "yes, I suppose so. What time are we supposed to be there?"

"First rendezvous at 11:30 near Sator's," Watson said, rubbing her cheek against Megan's ribs. "I thought that at the very least, we might be able to get Meteor into Sator's afterward."

"Oh, good thought," Megan said. "She agreed? You doublechecked?"

"Yes," Watson said. "For the twelfth time. After that, Renata's link comes up, the foursome walks alone to the park, and you and Meteor head to your post."

"Where will you be?"

Watson traced strange patterns around Megan's breast. "Mission control," she said, after a moment.

"Where's that?" Megan reached out to pet Madame Blavatsky, who had appeared on the edge of the bed and was staring at them with her usual slightly crazed look.

"Mary Sue's All-Night Diner," Watson said, "on French Street."

"I hope the coffee's good," Megan said, shivering as Watson started to do something else in the same region.

"Well, the company will be, at least," Watson said.

"Company?" Megan said, startled out of the pleasant sensations.

"Suzanne and Ira Feldstein, of course," Watson said, returning to her distraction technique, which muffled her voice somewhat. "They were part of the investigation. They deserve to be involved."

"Suzanne wants to be close in case something happens to Simon," Megan translated.

"Well, yes," Watson said. "One can't blame her, really, given what happened to the last young man she got involved with."

"Hm?" Megan said, not really interested.

Some time later, Watson's cell phone emitted a series of avian whoops, which Megan knew meant one of her myriad alarms. Madame gave the pile of papers that concealed the phone an evil look and vanished.

"Time to go," Watson said regretfully, peeling herself off of Megan.

"So how do you think he's going to disable the cameras?" Megan asked as she pulled on her underwear.

"I don't think he will, necessarily," Watson said through the grey long-sleeved t-shirt she was pulling on. "You know the notorious yen for media attention that many serial killers have. I think this one has been frustrated by the lack thereof until recently. He wants to be someone, you know?"

"But if he were going to," Megan said, pawing through her accumulation of laundry for her most supportive bra. Few things more distracting than flopping around while running to a fight, invulnerable or not.

"If he were going to," Watson said, hopping up and down to cram herself more effectively into her jeans, "I should think that he would have created or acquired a device to emit an electromagnetic pulse. Like, perhaps, the body netting worn by the Green Eel. Or the stunner carried by the Jellyfish. They could be altered by someone with sufficient skill or knowledge."

"And he could do it himself or hire it done by any of the gizmodders in the city," Megan said, shoving her legs into her own jeans.

"Yes," Watson said, pausing to pet Evason, who had wandered in to see what the ruckus was about. "Shit, I forgot to mention to Renata about Meteor."

"You forgot something?" Megan said, buttoning and zipping her jeans and wondering if she should stop downstairs for the crappier, torn-up jeans instead.

"Yes, I forget things from time to time," Watson said, tucking in her t-shirt and reaching for a flannel. "Particularly when I let myself get distracted by the mental sensation of a cat's whiskers brushing against me repeatedly. It's no good knowing that it's her restraining herself."

"Speaking of cats," Megan said, pulling on her t-shirt, "you know Jazz has been peeing on the papers in your study, don't you?

"Yes," Watson said resignedly. "He doesn't care for his new home. I'll clean it up soon."

"Zoltan will go spare if it gets into the wood of the floor," Megan said, pulling on her own flannel. It did not, happily, match Watson's, she noted. The day they'd both worn Campbell plaid flannel on a date was kind of embarrassing. "If we're not dead, I'll clean it up tomorrow."

Watson made a noise that could have been agreement or one of her distracted-thinking noises, then said, "My sister has invited us to a Beltane Feast on Sunday. Just her and the boys and some of their friends."

"No rampaging nude in the bushes?" Megan said, feeling a little strange about this very domesticated sort of discussion. She was much more comfortable with discussing supervillains and imminent death, and she wondered what that said about her. More material for Pearl, she thought with a sigh.

"They wait for me to leave before starting that," Watson said. "I'm known to be a prudish old fogey." She located her glasses and flashed a grin at Megan. "You can stay if you want."

Megan snorted. "You spent the day reminding me what I'd be missing if I did that."

"So I did," Watson said with a smug little grin. "C'mon, let's go."

---

Note from the Author:
Everyone prepares for conflict in their own ways, and Watson is a bit of a hedonist. Besides, you know Megan would have otherwise been sitting somewhere alone, stewing.

I am, believe it or not, still working on the last two short stories I owe. (Those of you who followed the lengthy production of my monster Utena fanfic, Archimage, at least will believe me, I hope.) Zoltan's story is threatening to become a miniseries, I'm afraid. We shall see what happens. Pearl's story is starting to shape up, but I'm being a little careful, because I don't want to write a whole story and have to scrap it like I did with Hel. And now I've got an idea for a story involving Brainchild. And another possibly-Pearl-related story idea cropped up as well. It's all very complicated, on top of the totally non-Wonder-City SF serial I keep contemplating.

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Wonder City Stories II #51

2011-07-22T00:39:48Z

O Divine Art of Subtlety and Secrecy!

"Look, I've been talking to someone lately, and I think he may be able to give you information about your killer," Megan said. She'd been hanging around outside every evening for a week, trying to catch Meteor as she departed on her nightly patrols (or on any dates).

Meteor glowered at her from the far side of the carriage house garden. She'd modified her plain green tank suit into a sleeveless body suit with a low neckline and a decorative red line (that matched her hair) from one shoulder straight down her body to her foot. "You and that Holmes woman think you're so very clever," she said with an expression that wasn't quite a snarl. "But I know you're trying to find someone who will exorcise me. And not having much luck," she added, almost gloating.

Megan gritted her teeth. "I want to help both you and G."

"You're lying," Meteor said.

Megan ground her teeth now. It sucked that Meteor was right.

A short, urgent series of beeps sounded.

"I don't have time to hang about chatting with you," Meteor said. "I have important things to do." She tapped a small gold star set on her costume just below her left collarbone and ran out of the yard, heading toward the road. She was almost out of sight when she started growing.

Megan sank down on a tree stump and put her head in her hands.

"Bitch has got to keep her size 50s outta my damn garden," Mr. Hammer said, emerging from the carriage house, "or I will put a serious hurtin' on her." His silvered countenance was sour and angry.

"Sorry," Megan said. "She flounced off, and the flounce took her through the tulip patch."

He bent over the wounded flowers, gently plucking the ones that were crushed and encouraging the rest to stand back up. "If this keeps up and she flounces through my vegetables, I'll make sure she'll never goddamn flounce again."

"She's using G's body, you know," Megan said glumly.

"I know," he said, plucking a few weeds from around the blooms. "Zoltan's been bending my ear about it for days."

"She's going on dates," Megan said. "With men. G told me once that she knew she was a lesbian when she was 11 and came out when she was 17."

Mr. Hammer straightened up and dusted his hands off. "She's got good friends in you two," he said. "Me, I'm not the charge-to-the-rescue type. That gets you deader'n doorknobs in this town."

"I know," Megan said. "One of my friends asked me what I wanted for my epitaph."

He squinted at her through the deepening crepuscular gloom. "You don't want to be talking to me, girl. Zoltan's the one for meddling. Go ask him for suggestions. Just keep bein' on time at the site in the mornings." He went back into his house and shut the door gently.

Megan sighed, then heaved to her feet and went to knock on her landlord's door.

"Ah, my dear, you look like someone has kicked your puppy, kitten, and potbellied piglet," Zoltan said, letting her into his basement apartment.

"Potbellied piglet?" Megan said, baffled. She was bemused by his attire: an immaculate white undershirt and perfectly-creased black trousers.

"A passing fancy," he said, leading the way into his living room. "You will forgive me, I hope. My tailor is here, and I have been measured and remeasured. She cannot deny me a moment's rest."

"I can and I will, if I must," said a gravelly woman's voice from his bedroom. She had what Megan thought might be a German accent, and sounded like she'd been smoking unfiltered cigarettes for the past fifty years.

"You see what I must suffer for my wardrobe?" Zoltan said.

"Why do you have to be measured so much?" Megan said. "Does your body ever actually change much?"

"An excellent question!" Zoltan said, sprawling decoratively on a Victorian-styled fainting couch. "I asked her much the same thing."

"And I said, yes, your body changes," the woman said, emerging to stand in the doorway. She was shrunken and wizened like the apple witches Megan had made as a child, but she was dressed in an exquisite dark blue suit and rose-colored blouse, a pair of silver-rimmed half-moon glasses perched on her nose. A set of silver tools -- scissors, thimble, and other things Megan couldn't recognize -- hung from her belt. "Over my lifetime, your posture and carriage have changed radically. Your body shifts to carry its weight differently, because even you cannot defy gravity..."

"Aie, do not tell me these things!" Zoltan exclaimed, covering his ears with manicured hands. "I defy all, even gravity!"

"... and so," she continued, "I must adjust your mannequin every year so that your suits are still the envy of all Wonder City. And now I must adjust your older suits to fit. This is, as they say, what you pay me the big bucks for, yes?"

"Yes, yes," he said, defeated. "Give me a moment of peace with my tenant. She is come to tell me important tenantly things."

"Ach," she said with disgust, "as if you ever take anything seriously." But she disappeared back into his bedroom and shut the door behind her.

"Now," Zoltan said, abruptly surging forward to sit on the edge of the couch, all attention. "You were about to tell me about Meteor and my friend G."

Megan blinked. "How did you know?" she said. Then she waved a hand. "No, never mind, you're the landlord. Look, I have to get Meteor to Sator's in Staybird somehow. He says he thinks he can remove her from G."

"You have tried the most obvious method of cunning, I gather," Zoltan said, folding his hands under his chin.

"Well," Megan said dubiously, "I tried telling her that I'd been talking to someone I thought could give her information about her killer."

"Ah, very good, not entirely a lie," Zoltan said. "The problem is that she thinks you are the devil in disguise. What you need is someone who she could believe is not evil."

"Like you?" Megan said with a wry smirk.

"Oh, no, she believes I will suck her blood!" Zoltan said. "And when I tell her I will not, and why, then she believes I am the devil. No, no one in this household will do."

"But if I tell any of the Gold Stars," Megan said, "or, god forbid, her boyfriend, they probably won't believe me, and even if they do..."

"They are not exactly the souls of subterfuge," Zoltan said, nodding. "Yes, I quite see the difficulty. So you must give up."

"But!" Megan exclaimed, nearly standing.

Zoltan indicated with a "stop" hand signal that he wasn't finished, and she subsided. "You must give up the pseudo-lie," he said, "and go with out-and-out fabrication. What are the things driving this ghost?"

"Um," Megan said, "she wanted to be a superhero. And, I guess, she wanted a boyfriend."

"But most of all! She wanted to be a superhero." Zoltan smiled, running his fingers through his smooth black hair. "This is what you must play upon. There must be a superhero reason for her to go to Sator's."

"Oh!" Megan slapped her forehead with her palm. "That makes so much more sense."

Zoltan leaned over and patted her other hand. "Ghosts are shallow beings, in general. You cannot appeal to their reason, so you must appeal to their raison d'être."

---

From the Author:
The party went well! (I'm sure you all were waiting with bated breath to hear.) And now we are in an atrocious heat wave. AC is my best friend.

The comment incentive in July: if I get 50 total comments from readers in July, I will post twice weekly through August. As before, if you all post 75 comments, I'll post twice weekly through September too. Get up to 100 comments, the twice-weekly postings continue through October.

And add-on to the incentive: reviews count as 5 comments, a TVTropes page for WCS would count as 25 comments.

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Wonder City Stories II #49

2011-07-06T14:00:14Z

The Oil of Refined Politeness

A trio of cowbells clonked unharmoniously as Watson led Megan through the small shopfront door under a handpainted sign proclaiming that this establishment was known as "The Mirror Crack'd." A wave of thick, powdery incense hit Megan straight in the sinuses, and so she didn't see the dangling ceiling display of maces and morning stars until the last moment. Some of the spikes grazed her scalp through her short hair despite her heroic ducking.

"Careful," Watson said, mouth twitching.

They moved through the store, and Megan spotted a large wooden corner display case containing what appeared to be handmade swords of a variety of what she thought of as European shapes. Around the case hung chain mail shirts, vests, bras, and other, even less likely forms of body covering. A number of glass cases took advantage of the excellent light from the front windows to show off smaller pieces of chainmail, as well as a number of different types of jewelry in silver, copper, and gold. A coffin was propped rakishly on the inner wall of the room, and a tuxedo-and-top-hat-clad skeleton semi-reclined inside. Another set of glass cases full of wood crafts, jewelled hairpins, and other expensive-looking items comprised the sales counter. A doorway next to the coffin led into the next room.

"Well," said the woman seated behind the counter to Watson, "I haven't seen you for a dog's age."

She was a few years older than Megan, pale-skinned and artificially black-haired, her long hair swept into an elegant updo and pinned in place with a pair of steel hairsticks. She wore a knee-length three-quarter-sleeved black dress with a moderate amount of lace at the bustline and the sleeves, and black stockings underneath. Over the dress, she was wearing a dark purple silk underbust corset, and she clutched a matching dark purple knitted shawl around her shoulders. She studied them through a pair of rimless octagonal glasses. Her lips were adorned with extremely red lipstick.

"Megan," Watson said, still with that hidden smile, "this is my younger sister Death."

Death stood up and politely shook Megan's hand, her fine-boned hand vanishing in Megan's rather larger one. "I'm glad to meet you, even if my big sister doesn't bother with context."

"We live in the same house," Megan said, opting for simplicity over exact truth.

"Not the latest girlfriend?" Death said, with a sharp look that reminded Megan uncomfortably of some of Watson's apparent ability to see completely through one.

"Um," Megan said.

"I have some questions," Watson said, adjusting her own wire-rimmed glasses almost fastidiously.

"Don't you always?" Death said, settling back onto her chair. "And you never seem to want to visit me at my house. What's up?"

"Been reading about the murders?" Watson said.

"You can't go to any local social networks online without tripping over them," Death said. "So I suppose."

"The latest victim was starting up as a pro domme," Watson said.

Death put her head to one side thoughtfully. "What was the name?"

"Dani Williams," Watson said. "A Wonder City University senior. She was majoring in medieval literature. She was using 'Olivia' as her pseudonym, according to my research."

"Don't recognize either name," Death said, "but I've been retired for a few years. Diarmid may know her; he's got friends in the pro scene."

Megan felt suddenly out of her depth, and looked more closely at Death. She'd been a professional? Megan thought she didn't look the type. But then Megan realized she didn't know if there was "a type" anyway.

"Is he in the smithy?" Watson said, turning toward the doorway.

"Yeah, you know where it is," Death said, then glanced at Megan. "You may not want to go down there. Really low ceilings. My husbands are only six-footers and they regularly cosh their heads on the beams."

Megan nodded vaguely, watching Watson disappear. Left with the Awkward Conversation, she turned to Death with a smile that was just short of a rictus and said, "So. Self-chosen name?"

Death's mouth quirked to one side. "Actually, it's one of my middle names."

"What's the first name?" Megan said, momentarily forgetting her resolution never to pry about these things.

"Harriet, I'm sorry to say," Death said.

"Could have been Mycroft," Megan said.

"No," Death said, "our mother made sure we had workably feminine first names. Living in that wacky house with Watson, are you?"

"Yes," Megan said. "That is, not with Watson. My apartment's on the first floor."

"Is the ex still living there?" Death said, lacing her fingers together around one of her knees and watching Megan closely.

"My ex? Oh, um, Watson's ex. Um. Actually, both our ex. If that's even a proper sentence construction," Megan said, abruptly becoming aware that she was babbling.

"Close enough for government work," Death said. "Bonding over your broken hearts?"

"Something like that," Megan said, trying to figure out a polite way of saying It's none of your damned business to Watson's -- her girlfriend's? -- sister.

"Well, if you decide to dump her, do me a favor and do it cleanly," Death said. "None of this dragging out for a month or more, trying to figure out if things are over or not. 'Kay? Her detection skills aren't so good at that sort of thing."

"Sure," Megan said, wishing Watson would come back.

Her wish was granted while she was still trying for a new topic of conversation. Watson emerged from the doorway, followed by a tall, broad-shouldered black man in t-shirt, jeans, and leather apron.

"Hi!" he said, extending a scarred and calloused hand to Megan. "Diarmid MacBride," he added, voice a pleasantly resonant basso.

She shook his hand, raising an eyebrow at the name. "Megan Amazon."

He winked at her. "Heard of the Black Irish? I'm the Black Scot."

Diarmid then leaned over the counter and kissed Death briefly. He was a massively muscular man, thick-bodied and bearded, his head shaved bald. Megan suspected that he loomed even when he wasn't trying. Death returned the salute and swatted at where he'd put his hand on the glass counter. "I have to clean that," she said.

"That's your job, woman," he said, but the tone was light. Megan thought perhaps he was closer to Watson's age than Death's.

"I'll remind you of that later," Death said. "Was this shiftless hunk of meat any use, Watson?"

"He told me some possibly useful things," Watson said.

"Like the fact the woman in question was trying to fly on her own without any wings," Diarmid said. "Vanessa was telling me about her, saying she was being a typical stupid kid about the whole thing. Like thinking all she had to do was pull an outfit together and buy a riding crop and she could be a domme 'cause she spanked her boyfriend a few times."

"Do you have a picture of her?" Death said to Watson. "I might be able to tell you if she ever bought equipment here."

Watson plucked a photo from her pocket and handed it over the counter. As Death frowned over it, the door clonked. Diarmid, Watson, and Megan glanced in its direction.

A tall young white man with a profile stolen from a Greek bust plucked a black top hat off rumpled black curls and gave the assemblage an ironic bow. He hung the hat and his fine woolen greatcoat on the antique hall tree tucked behind the skeleton and strolled over, smoothing his exquisitely tailored Victorian pinstriped suitcoat and arranging his gold watch chain. "What fun am I missing?" he said, kissing Diarmid.

"Oh, just one of Watson's cases," Diarmid said, patting the younger man's rear absently. "Al Kostas, Megan Amazon."

Al had long, sensitive musician's hands. "The pleasure's all mine," he said, smiling a Greek god smile up at her.

"Quit flirting," Death said without even looking up. "She's Watson's."

Megan blinked. Watson stifled a laugh. Al looked chagrined. "Sorry," he said to Megan. "Habit."

"She came in here about three weeks ago," Death said finally. "Do you remember her, Al?"

He kissed her as he took the photo. Megan felt a strange pang -- she never seemed to get involved with anyone who did this sort of casual affection.

"Ye-es," he said after a moment. "She was the one that picked up a couple of how-to books and was looking at floggers. She bought the purple sparkly one you made last fall."

Megan sort of casually tried to peer into the other room. Floggers? How-to books?

"Yeah, you had to help her," Death said, scowling. "I remember now. I had to chase that obnoxious kid from that TV show out of here. The camera hit one of the displays."

Megan and Watson exchanged glances. "Blond?" Watson asked.

"Yeah. Blond frat boy type," Death said. She raised both eyebrows and stared at her sister. "I gather that's an important clue?"

Watson grimaced. "Could be."

"Need to work on your poker face," Death said.

Watson shrugged and shook her head. "I suspect it will never be good enough for you, dear sister. We should be on our way."

"Of course," Death said. "You know, you could come over for dinner sometime. Bring her," she added, nodding at Megan.

Watson gave them all a measuring look. "Next Sunday?"

Death blinked in surprise. "Uh, sure. Yeah. Definitely."

"See you then," Watson said, herding Megan toward the door. Megan waved at the trio before ducking out the door. Diarmid grinned and winked at her again.

Megan tried to order her thoughts so she could ask a useful question. Brandon? Floggers? How-to books? Retired pro domme sister?

"Didn't scare you off, did they?" Watson said after they'd walked a block.

"Scare me off what?" Megan said, her head still spinning.

Watson stopped and turned to Megan. She reached up, grabbed Megan's jacket, and hauled her down. "Me," she said, and kissed Megan hard. There. In the middle of the street. Well, sidewalk.

Megan staggered back a step into the wall when Watson let her go, and managed to say, "Uh, no."

---

From Ye Olde Author:
Missed 50 comments in June by three! So CLOSE! (Alas, akycha's comments don't count toward the total, in case you're counting at home.) I will find a way to thank you all this month. And it kind of turns out to be for the best, since I'm going to be out of state, doing a big family birthday party for my parents part of next week and the week after.

We'll continue the comment incentive in July: if I get 50 total comments from readers in July, I will post twice weekly through August. As before, if you all post 75 comments, I'll post twice weekly through September too. Get up to 100 comments, the twice-weekly postings continue through October.

I will add more double-posting possibilities: if you post a chunky review of Wonder City (and link it from one of the WCS posts), I'd count that as 5 comments. And if some folks were to create a full-blown TVTropes page for Wonder City, I would count that as 25 comments. *whistles innocently*

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Wonder City Stories II #46

2011-06-22T13:41:18Z

Conversations Are Always Dangerous

As Megan opened the outer door of Sator's, someone erupted from within, shoving past her and slamming into her hard enough to make her take a step backward. She looked after the white man in the grey hoodie and jeans, baffled and annoyed, and he shot a vicious glare over his shoulder at her. The close-set eyes and the strawberry mark across his forehead combined with the square-cut jaw and blond hair to ring all her bells for recognition.

She was about to mention this to Watson, but Watson pushed past her into the store, forcing her to follow. When the door was shut behind them, she said, "Watson, that was... I don't know his name, but he's Brandon's camera guy."

"I figured," Watson said. "He matched your description. He didn't knock it out of your hand, did he?"

"No," Megan said, displaying the small, wrapped package. "I'm glad he didn't run into you, though. That collision probably could've dislocated your shoulder."

"Interesting," Watson said, glancing through the window after the man's retreating form. "But currently irrelevant." She gestured Megan on through the shop.

Megan always noticed new items when she picked her way through Sator's, but the older items never seemed to move or change. Today, the highlight of the Sator's Thing-Spotting was a wolf pelt thrown negligently over a set of carved wooden canes in an umbrella stand decorated with Egyptian gods. They proceeded straight through the more crowded rooms into the relatively spacious back room.

"Ah, ladies," Sator said, emerging from behind the purple velvet curtain. His wild white hair seemed even wilder than usual, sticking out at odd angles, though his muttonchops were as impeccable as his white buttondown shirt and grey trousers. "So good to see you again."

"We've brought it," Megan said, a little abruptly. She caught an unreadable glance from Watson for that.

"Excellent!" he said, smiling his charming little mad scientist smile. He swept the purple curtain back and bowed them into his consultation room.

As Megan set the package on the table, Sator said, "You are certain she looked into it?"

"Yes," Megan said. "I saw Meteor stop in the hallway and look into it to check her hair. She was annoyed and made some disparaging comment about our landlord swapping out the mirrors."

"He'll be crushed," Watson murmured.

Megan grinned. She recalled finding Zoltan while he was dusting the public areas, skull-and-crossbones kerchief covering his hair, an apron covering his clothes, and an enormous feather duster in hand. "Do you mind if I swap out the mirror in the hall?" she had asked.

"What for?" he said, eyebrows peaking.

"It's, um, a magic mirror," Megan said. When he looked even more disbelieving, she said, "Look, you've noticed that G hasn't exactly been around lately, right?"

Zoltan nodded, flicking some dust from a bronze statue of Mercury.

"Watson and I are trying to... G is possessed by this ghost, see, and so we've gotten someone who's willing to help us de-possess her, but he needs information."

"So you propose to set your information-gathering trap in my front hall?" Zoltan said.

"Um. Yes."

"Well," he said musingly, neatly removing a cobweb from a high corner, "if G does not work, I am likely to have a non-paying tenant soon, yes?'

"Yes," Megan said. Not to mention a completely different tenant, she didn't add.

"I do not, on principle, have objections to ghosts, you understand," he said, running the duster over a line of leather-bound books on the hall shelf. "I have known some charming ghosts. Though none of them were particularly smart. If I am not wrong, though, this ghost has been taking our friend out on dates in a most inappropriate fashion, yes?"

"Yes," Megan said through gritted teeth.

"Well, then," Zoltan said, smiling sunnily and yet somehow... pointily, "I say that the heterosexual agenda needs foiling." He gestured her toward the mirror.

"Watson told me to tell you that you probably don't want to look into it," Megan said, having replaced the usual mirror with the dark mirror, still shrouded in blue silk. "Unless you want someone knowing more about you than you probably want them to."

"Excellently perceptive advice from the excellently perceptive Ms. Holmes," Zoltan said. "I vanish into the depths! How long will it be up?"

"Until I see her use it," Megan said.

"Very well," he said, and disappeared down the basement stairs.

When Megan was paying attention again, Sator had uncovered the round, dark-surfaced mirror and was gazing into it. Watson was watching his face intently.

"A sudden death," Sator said. "A violent death. A planned, intentional death."

"Planned?" Watson said softly. "Fascinating."

"Yes, it is very clear," Sator said, turning the mirror a little to the left. "A man, I think. And a definite stink of magic."

"Oh, that would explain it then," Watson said cryptically.

"She passed over any number of hosts," Sator said. "She was waiting for a woman with para powers."

"Any para powers would do?" Watson said.

"Yes, I think so," Sator said, giving the mirror a half-turn to the right. "Though some might work better in gestalt with the ghost than others."

"Anything else?" Watson said.

"She has no particular defenses against magic," Sator said, sitting back in his chair and casting the silk over the mirror again. "In fact, she is quite vulnerable as a magical being. I believe that if you can get her into the store, I can deal with her before she has a chance to react poorly."

As they left the shop, emerging into the sharp, raw, early April evening, Watson said, "That was enlightening."

"Was it?" Megan said, frowning.

"You're distracted," Watson said. "Still fretting about what Pearl told you?"

"Yes," Megan said. "I feel like way too many of my friends are in stupidly dangerous situations. Apparently, not being in spandex doesn't matter if you're in Wonder City."

"True enough," Watson said. "Though I can't decide which is worse: a serial killer that might possibly be on the set of It's a Wonderful House or a single person's life being blotted out by a crazy ghost."

"They're both horrible," Megan said. "And I can't do much about either."

"Well, you can warn Simon, at least," Watson said.

"I have to wait until his day off and get him somewhere private," Megan said. "Before he goes gallivanting off with Suzanne."

"Bring him up to my place," Watson said. "I have some toys that will pick up most bugs that might follow him. And the cats might spot others."

"Have you figured out any possible suspects?" Megan said, gesturing inquiringly at a little hole-in-the-wall Turkish restaurant on Staybird's Main Street.

Watson nodded and they went into the restaurant. "I've been doing a little research, and I fancy I've found one or two people it might be, assuming that our mega-telepath didn't just manage to pick up someone strolling nearby. Which, of course, for her could be anywhere in a thousand-mile radius."

"You'd think a woman with that sort of power would be able to gauge the general distance from which she was hearing the thoughts." Megan said.

"Hmm," Watson said as she examined the menu. "Yes, well, with great power comes the need for a great deal of control, which can work against you. By the bye, I'd like to walk past the Wonderful House while we're in the neighborhood."

"Okaaay," Megan said, looking up from her contemplation of delicious-sounding lamb dishes. "Any particular reason?"

Watson looked up at her, blinking through her wire-rim glasses. "Oh? No. Just want to see the lay of the land."

"Not going to crawl over their front yard with a magnifying glass?" Megan asked, tapping Watson's knee under the table.

"Nah," Watson said, smiling. "I'm sure all this sleet has interfered with my clues anyway."

---

From the Author:
Clues! Some clues! Won't say for what, of course, but there are definitely clues.

Comment incentive in June: if I get 50 total comments from readers in June, I will post twice weekly through July. As before, if you all post 75 comments, I'll post twice weekly through August too. Get up to 100 comments, the twice-weekly postings continue through September.

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Wonder City Stories II #43

2011-06-01T17:30:53Z

A Matter of Necessity

Megan waved as Ladybird drove off to turn in the company van, then put her feet on the path down to the front door of the house on Marigold Lane. It was kind of Ladybird to make the stop; the two 50-pound bags of cat food might not be onerously heavy to Megan, but they were awkward and slippery. Plus, Wonder City was celebrating the coming of the spring equinox with dull leaden skies, a biting wind that went straight through her invulnerable skin, and the promise of yet another ice storm.

As she turned the curve around the carriage house (no lights on, Mr. Hammer must not be home yet), she saw a clean-cut young white man in a navy suit and a dark grey trenchcoat standing at the door of the house. His dishwater blond hair was cut so short as to be nearly military. He was fidgeting, jingling keys and change in one pocket, staring in at the door curiously.

She called, "Can I help you?" before stepping onto the porch, and he whirled in surprise. He was only a couple years older than she was, and had a fairly nice smile, but was otherwise unremarkable.

"Sorry!" he said. "I'm waiting for my date. I rang," he added, gesturing at the set of doorbells.

"Ah," Megan said, frowning in her perplexity. Zoltan's date for the evening? "Are you sure you hit the right bell?"

The door flew open just then and Meteor stepped out. She was wearing a neat green wool suit exactly the shade of her tank suit; the skirt came to just below her knees and the jacket was a two-button double-breasted affair with pinstripes. A lacy bowtie draped over the V of the jacket collar, and a smart little green pillbox hat topped her swooping flame-red 1940s pompadour. "Kevin!" she exclaimed with a brilliant smile. The smile faded abruptly when she saw Megan.

"Gwen! You look gorgeous!" the man -- Kevin, apparently -- exclaimed. Out of the corner of his mouth, he said to Megan, "Glad I wore the suit!"

"Yes," Megan said, flat and unenthusiastic. "Hello, 'Gwen'."

"Megan," Meteor said, equally unenthusiastic and with an undercurrent of fear.

"Nice outfit," Megan said.

"Isn't it?" Meteor said, recovering her poise just a bit. "Oh, Kevin, I'm sorry, this is one of my housemates, Megan."

"Megan Amazon," Megan said, setting down one of the bags and shaking his hand.

"Kevin Necessitas," he said, grinning.

"One of Mother Necessity's...?" Megan began.

"Grandson," he said. "The third Mother N's grandson. Don't have the knack for invention that my sister and cousins have, though."

Megan racked her brain for the vague memory that nagged at her, then found it. "You're... Doctor Insight?"

"Got it in one," Kevin said. "I shouldn't expect any less of the Amazon's daughter, though."

If she remembered correctly, he had a minor para power that allowed him to see remotely inside a human body, which made him a rather good doctor, but a lousy superhero.

"Kevin, won't we miss the show if we're too much later?" Meteor said, taking his arm. She was, Megan noticed, just about an inch shorter than Kevin now. Nice trick that.

"Seen G today?" Megan said, with malice.

"No," Meteor said, giving a small toss of her head, "I haven't seen her for days and days." She began moving Kevin off the porch toward the driveway.

"G'bye!" Kevin said over his shoulder. "Nice meeting you!"

"Yeah," Megan said, picking up the bag of cat food. She watched them get into Kevin's dark blue Lexus sedan and drive off, then went inside and closed the door behind her.

She climbed the stairs to the third floor heavily and let herself into Watson's apartment.

---

From the Author:
Because we got to the halfway point in the commenting incentive in May, and because I didn't give you a real episode last week, I will post two episodes this week. Look for the second one on Friday!

Let's try the comment incentive again in June: if I get 50 total comments from readers in June, I will post twice weekly through July. As before, if you all post 75 comments, I'll post twice weekly through August too. Get up to 100 comments, the twice-weekly postings continue through September.

The next short story is coming; ended up scrapping what I'd originally written and now am rewriting. Sorry about that. :P

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Wonder City Stories II #39

2011-04-26T13:33:41Z

Sator Arepo Tenet Opera Rotas

Sator's was a more attractive store, when Megan and Watson crossed the threshold, than any of the shops they'd previously visited. It smelled lightly of a dry, musky incense and the chimes on the door made deep, soothing noises. There were a number of glass cases full of jewelry and crystal balls with pewter wizards and witches and dragons scattered among the other wares. A display of swords hung on the walls above packed bookcases lined at the top with stuffed ravens and owls, and a line of overstuffed bookcases split the room down the middle. Across the back wall, taller glass cases displayed colorful Egyptian statues on the top shelves, populated by Asian bronzes and Greco-Roman resin statues below. Both the countertops and statue cases were agreeably cluttered, leading one to believe that if one looked hard enough, one might find a treasure amidst the multitude of Anubises, Ganeshas, and happy Buddhas. An unobstructed doorway offered tempting glimpses of the room beyond.

Watson rambled to the far side of the bookcases, studying the titles and swords, while Megan cruised the jewelry counter curiously. Crystal necklaces dominated, starting from relatively inexpensive faux crystal points and proceeding, as one got deeper into the store, toward precious stones and more ornate settings of silver and gold. There were a few sets of rings, none of which, Megan noticed with amusement, came close to being of a size to fit her hand. There were wands made with wooden sticks or copper tubes, sometimes tipped with a quartz crystal, sometimes encrusted with stones. She and Watson rendezvoused at the doorway, and they drifted through into the next room.

This room was darker and closer and more muddled, and Megan felt like she needed to stoop most of the time to avoid some of the random bunches of decorative objects that hung from the ceiling. Bookcases were obscured by stand-up displays, or tucked into a corner behind an umbrella-holder full of hand-carved staves. A glass case contained Tarot card decks, with more recent decks, like the Wonder City superhero deck, overlaying older cards, backed by a giant-sized Rider-Waite deck with a thin layer of dust on its top edge. A display of incenses and herbs took up an entire corner, flanked by spinning displays full of booklets that looked like they'd been produced on early copy machines, given their fonts and art. Megan had to move carefully in this room, as the aisles were apparently designed to only allow humans about a foot wide to pass unscathed. Even Watson was having trouble getting into some of the corners.

More interesting was the next room, achieved through a narrow, low-linteled doorway. It was Spartan compared to the previous room, with a high ceiling and indirect lighting. Chinoiserie cabinets stood open, displaying books in heavy leather bindings, or statues and wands and daggers that appeared to be actual Art, rather than mass-manufactured objects. Several swords, discreetly labeled with the smith's name, were displayed on one wall. The back wall of the room was innocent of displays, and a heavy purple velvet curtain hung over a doorway.

Megan drifted near enough to overhear a man saying, "It appears that, at this time, you may indulge either of your desires for the best result." She twitched away reflexively, not wanting to overhear anything else of a personal nature. This reflex also kept her, a few moments later, from looking up when a person emerged from behind the velvet and stalked straight out. She caught just a glimpse, seeing only a male shape in a gray hoodie.

A few moments later, a comical little man in a suit of antique style pulled back the curtain and stepped out. His hair was white and enthusiastically expansive in all directions, though the top of his head was bald. He wore muttonchops along his jawline, and peered at them through a pair of wire-rim glasses. "Good day, ladies," he said cheerfully, and Megan recognized his voice, if not the tone, as the one she had overheard.

"Good day, Mister... Sator?" Watson said.

"No mister, just Sator, please," he said. "Are you Ms. Holmes, then?"

"Yes," Watson said. "This is my associate, Ms. Amazon."

Megan braced herself, but he merely bowed and said, "Pleased to meet you both. We can begin the consultation immediately, if you wish."

"Yes, thank you," Watson said. He gestured them back and held the curtain for them.

His consultation room was wallpapered in dark gold and cream stripes. One wall was dominated by an intricately carved walnut mantel and a working fireplace that put out a great deal of heat and but little light. They seated themselves in comfortable chairs -- one even large enough for Megan -- as their host did the same across the laquered card table.

Megan, upon examining his face, decided that he looked like Isaac Asimov. She wasn't sure whether this was reassuring or off-putting.

"How can I help you?" he said, picking up a narrow deck of cards and shuffling it idly.

"We understand that you offer assistance with cases of possession," Watson said.

"Indeed," Sator said, smiling a little. "It is a distressing situation for both the possessor and the possessee, though perhaps the former does not always realize the peril of the situation."

"Yes," Watson said. "I'm glad we agree on the subject. Do you realize how few of your colleagues in town share your perspective?"

Sator shrugged and laid out a trio of cards quickly. He glanced down at them and picked them up almost as quickly as he'd laid them down. It happened fast enough that Megan couldn't figure out what cards he'd been looking at, but thought they weren't standard Tarot designs. "They're simply afraid, of course. The laws regarding supernatural interventions are notoriously vague in wording, and there have certainly been some spectacular cases of malpractice in recent years."

"You make it sound like surgery," Megan said.

"It is surgery, of a sort," Sator said. "After all, if an alien object -- say, a bullet -- enters a human body, isn't the best way to remove it to cut open the flesh and extract it if doing so does not further endanger the patient?"

"In this case," Watson said, "the possessor claims that her removal will endanger the possessee."

"They often claim that," Sator said, plucking a single card from the deck and studying it. "It is rarely true, and is unlikely in this case." He shuffled the card back into the deck. "The most important thing to remember, when dealing with an invader, is that there is generally some advantage for them being where they are. If there is an advantage, then it is also to their advantage to lie. They want their host to believe that they are somehow necessary for the host to continue to live. Most such situations are almost never really symbiotic; almost all, in my experience, are purely parasitic."

Watson glanced at Megan with a look of relief. Here was a man, Megan thought, who could and would likely help them.

"Now," he said. "Is the host paranormal or supernatural in any way?"

"She has minor para powers," Watson said.

"Minor invulnerability and an edge on strength," Megan said.

He nodded and dealt out another trio of cards. Megan could see runes or glyphs or something on the cards, nothing readable by someone passingly familiar with many of the available forms of divination. "Yes, I see," he said, pursing his lips over the cards. "And the... ghost, I see, not a demon or other invading force. She is also paranormal?"

Watson raised her eyebrows. "Yes," she said. "All that from the cards?"

"The cards are merely a focus for me," he said, shuffling them back in and riffling the deck expertly to shuffle. "They help me determine some details remotely that would be obvious if I were to meet her in person. I perceive that their powers are working in a gestalt of sorts, enhancing each other. This may make it difficult if she chooses to struggle."

Watson and Megan both nodded.

He stopped shuffling and set the deck aside. "Well, then, we must take her by surprise, if possible. I can't really help you there; you know your friend best, and will know how to catch her off-guard. I cannot create a trap to lay in wait for her or anything like that. The removal must be by my hand, as there are often complications that must be dealt with on the spot. However, I value my shop."

"Yes, we understand," Watson said.

"Honestly, we've been so focused on finding someone willing to help us," Megan said, "that we're going to have to think about how to manage the rescue now that we've found someone."

"That's often an issue for my clients," Sator said, smiling broadly.

"Then there is the issue of your fee," Watson said.

"I despise discussing finances before I have performed what I view as my duties," Sator said. "I assure you that I will not charge more than you can afford."

There was something about this assurance that made the hairs on the back of Megan's neck stand up, but what choice did they really have, after all?

---

From the Author:

Finally, I get them to Sator's! And finally they get someone who's agreeing to help. (With many thanks again to my wife, who suggested the outing to Salem last fall to gather material for this description and the other shops I've described. None of the shops of Wonder City are replicas of any one shop anywhere; I've jumbled many elements together for effect.)

Remember to stop by and vote in the poll for the next prompt I can offer to Meeks. And don't forget to leave feedback on the Molly and Hel sketch.

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Wonder City Stories II #35

2011-04-01T21:41:23Z

Cold Storage

"Who are you trying to rescue?" Pearl said into the silence after Megan's narrative of her latest investigatory adventures.

"Pardon?" Megan said, braking on her track of wondering about Sator's.

Pearl leaned on the arm of her chair and tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Who are you trying to rescue?" she repeated.

"Well, G, of course," Megan said, frowning.

"How do you feel about G?" Pearl said.

"I..." Megan shut her mouth with a snap and thought for a moment. "I'm angry. And frustrated because I can't be angry at her while she's out of her head."

"Underneath that," Pearl said. "Go deeper."

Megan pursed her lips and considered. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I... I just can't."

Pearl watched her for a moment. "How do you feel about Watson?"

Megan was beginning to feel a little whiplash. "I like her. And she's... intimidating. Because she's older, and because she's smarter than I am."

"What is G's full name?"

Megan tried to remember. Surely it had been on the diploma on the wall. But... no, she'd only looked at the school and the degree, not the name. "I don't know."

"How do you feel about Simon?"

"What?"

"How do you feel about Simon?"

"I... he's my best friend." She paused, then said more quietly, "He's my only friend."

"G's not your friend?"

"No. Yes. I don't know." Megan clenched her hands tightly. "I don't know anything about her. Happy?"

"Why are you trying to... as your... well, you just said Simon was your only friend, so, as your acquaintance Tizemt said... be G's magical person of color?"

Megan could feel her fingernails biting into her palms. "Because she's someone I know who is having something horrible happen to her."

"You would do this for anyone you knew?"

"Yes! No. I don't know."

Pearl leaned forward. "Who are you trying to rescue?"

"Tanya, of course!" Megan shouted. "Tanya! That's who you want me to say, right? My roommate who was cut to pieces by a crazy evil man. There you have it. I'm trying to rescue Tanya."

Pearl was silent, resting her laced fingers in her lap.

Megan fumed, a few tears trickling down her face. That made her angrier. "If I'd been there, I could have saved her, I could have stopped him. If I'd been in spandex, I could have stopped them all, and wouldn't have been as easy to kill as the teammate they killed. I might have been their conscience. Maybe I could have even saved Annette."

Pearl still didn't say anything.

Megan looked around the room, anywhere but at her therapist. "Tanya was my roommate freshman year, you know. We were one of those rare sets that worked out all right, that liked each other. She had this power, something about being able to analyze molecular structures. She was an archaeology major. Joked about calling herself 'Carbon-14'." She scrubbed at her face with the heel of one hand. "I puppydogged after her for a year before I finally got up the guts to ask her out on a date. And she was very... kind... when she told me she was sorry she was straight. And then we didn't talk until most of the way through our sophomore years, and I'd gotten over her enough to date around some, and she'd started dating Boyd in the meantime."

"When did you move in together?" Pearl asked.

"Not till senior year," Megan said. "Her relationship with Boyd was always weird. I didn't like him at all. I met Annette through him -- they were part of the same team. Tanya didn't like Annette, and I didn't like Boyd." She rubbed her fingers through her hair. "It wasn't long after their team had secretly gone villain -- and they'd started to be even more obviously nasty -- that we each talked the other out of our relationships. And then we broke up with them, and then Tanya died."

Pearl studied her face. "Where does the guilt come from?"

Megan felt like she should be scrambling desperately to pull her sheets back up over her ugly mind. "Because I wasn't there," she said. "And because I'd always been anti-Boyd. I hated his guts. He told me once... when Tanya wasn't in the room... that he knew I didn't like him, and that he thought it was all sour grapes, because he got her and I didn't. And... he was at least a little right."

"Did you stop talking to her about Boyd after that?" Pearl said.

"Well... yeah. I did. I didn't want to seem... jealous." Megan exhaled heavily. "I guess that was what he was trying to get me to do, huh?"

"Sounds like it." Pearl rubbed the arm of her chair with her thumb. "What happened after Tanya was killed?"

Megan's shoulders slumped. "There was a lot of questions. Boyd, being the ex, was first on the suspect list. I was second, though I really didn't have the means to cut up bodies with lasers, so I was a distant second. Annette... showed up to comfort me." She felt her mouth twisting in embarrassment, regret, anger. "She said he'd disappeared, gone off the deep end, she was very sorry they hadn't known, she was very sorry..."

"Did you move out of that apartment?" Pearl said.

"Yeah," Megan said, her voice dropping. "I moved in with Annette. Mom... didn't like it, but you know, when Mom says she doesn't like it..."

"You do it anyway?" Pearl said with a little smile.

Megan made a noise of agreement, her gaze fixed on her clenched fists.

"How long?"

"I stayed... almost through graduation. I almost didn't graduate because my grades went into the shitter. But Mom had a little chat with the administration, and they agreed to give me a pass/fail semester at the end." Megan gritted her teeth against the memory, the harrowing expectation of her mother's crushing disappointment, and how startled she'd been to receive, instead, sympathy from her emotional monolith of a parent. "Annette was... she never let me forget that I'd broken up with her. And she managed to convince me... partly... mostly... that Tanya's death was my fault. That the breakup pushed Boyd over the edge, or something."

Pearl said, "That sounds like she was very manipulative."

"Yeah," Megan said. "And what pisses me off now, and embarrasses the hell out of me, was that I believed her. The oldest trick in the misogyny textbook, that victim-blaming shit."

"Sometimes, when one is in a difficult situation," Pearl said carefully, "and when one has had a terrible shock, it's easier to believe the cultural messages than fight them."

"I guess," Megan said, unconvinced. She started mentally going over her memories of those months.

When she'd been silent for a couple of minutes, Pearl said, eyebrows raised, "What's happening in there right now?"

"I guess... I'm just thinking about it for the first time in a... couple of years," Megan said. "It's kind of like... you know that tingly sort of pain you get when you press a sore spot on your gum? It hurts, but it also pushes other neurons in a way that almost feels good?"

"Yes," Pearl said. "That's what thinking about that time is like?"

"Yeah. Except... the 'good' feeling --" she did the airquotes "-- is mostly bad. Self-indulgent. Guilty."

"Why?"

"I think," Megan said slowly, "that maybe I don't like spandex because... my idea of superheroing reminds me too much of how I felt during that time with Annette."

"Which was?"

"Important," Megan said in a low voice. "Like I was the center of someone's world. Which I was, in a terrifying, obsessive way. Like it got me attention -- from Annette, and from my mother, who didn't approve of any of it and was worried about me for the first time in my life. Like I had friends, lots of friends, who liked us as a couple, who we spent all our time with. I had an exciting, people-filled life, and a lot of approval because I was with Annette."

"Do you miss it?"

"Yes," Megan almost snarled. "It was a high. It wasn't real, and that was even better because it was all in my head -- the way sex is better when it's in your head too. It was better than spandex. I didn't have to fight supervillains for it. I just had to dance attendance on Annette, and it all came to me. And there was an edge of danger, too -- what if I missed something she wanted? What if I pissed her off? Would she leave? The drama, Pearl, the drama was everything. It was addictive as hell." She reached for the tissue box and used a handful to mop the trickles that ran down her face. "And I don't ever want it back. Except I do."

Pearl put her head to one side and watched Megan for a moment, then said, gently, "Who are you trying to rescue?"

"Oh," Megan said, surprised, into her tissues. "Myself."

---

Note from the Author:

That was... way harder to write than I expected.

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